The Tracker Of Goliath
by CuHnadian
Summary: The threat of an undetectable enemy is slowly consuming the Citadel and its people; a personal loss will send C-Sec's leader into madness, and hire a tracker to eliminate it who is hidden.
1. Chapter 1

**The Tracker of Goliath**

 **Chapter 1**

She'd been in conflict with the Reapers longer than most, but fourteen years ago, the enemy brought conflict to every Homeworld in the galaxy.

She made it out, surviving an explosion so massive her cybernetics weren't able to protect her spine from shattering, but those enhancements were what ultimately saved her; others caught in the blast were burned alive, some reduced to ash.

 _Thanks Cerberus… you bastards._

Her gaming controller vibrated at the sound of a Geth Sniper firing, its bolt of energy reducing Shepard's in-game character to particles before vanishing completely. She glanced at the boy next to her, unamused.

"Really?"

Her eight year old son giggled.

"Yes!" He laughed.

Shepard sighed, shaking her head with a retracted smile. Her digital avatar respawned, shotgun and biotics ready.

"You know, David, we had shields so that they couldn't kill us instantly from long range."

Her son smirked, "You agreed to play with shields turned off."

Shepard's face developed a grin. "I didn't want you to lose by ten kills like in the last four games."

"Those were lucky," David mockingly pouted.

Shepard's grin only grew when her avatar flanked David's Geth. Using a biotic pull, the synthetic folded up its mechanical limbs in mid-air, just in time for Shepard to deliver a shotgun blast to the enemy's stupid flashlight head.

"Really?" David yelled at the screen.

"Yes!" Shepard replied, using her impression of David to add fuel to the fire.

"Just because you did that move a thousand times in real life, it doesn't mean you need to do it another thousand times in-game!" opined David.

"If it ain't broke, don't fix it."

David respawned, only to immediately be flung into the air by Shepard's biotic lift, a move so powerful that it made his one hit kill sniper seem like an air-gun. The game was meant to simulate real battles that took place in the galaxy, and unfortunately for David, it meant that his mother was just as good in virtual battle as she was in reality. No matter how high in the air his Geth was, Shepard's N7 Crusader shotgun was always able to take it out with one slug round.

"I can't even block your biotics without shields!" David complained, only to be met with an amused look on his mother's face. "Yeah, I know," he sighed as match ended, and returned them to the main menu.

"Hey, you were able to get a few good hits on me, you're already ahead of all the Geth I fought," she joked, lightly hitting his arm.

David's pouting returned, a face that Shepard knew he only used when he wanted something, but she'd still fall victim to.

 _Damn it._

"How about we stop going by uncle Wrex's rule and team up instead?" she smiled.

David contemplated her suggestion, but Shepard knew what was coming next, she could read her son like a datapad.

He turned his head to her, "If I get ice cream today."

"Tomorrow," she replied.

"Today!"

"Not happening."

"Why not?" he whined.

"Because the last time we made that mistake, your father was hearing Quarian popstars at three in the morning."

"I told you, that wasn't me!" he said as his cheeks reddened.

"Your father listens to Asari popcrap, not Quarian, so it didn't come from him."

"And you listen to century old human popcrap!"

"It's not pop."

"But it's crap."

"It's industrial."

"Which is crap."

"No more gaming today and no ice cream tomorrow."

"Fine… ice cream tomorrow."

David sighed at his loss, albeit with the corner of his mouth failing to hide a smile. After selecting a battle scenario taking place on Feros, he pressed the start button.

That cheered Shepard up. She learned a long time ago to indulge in these moments with her son, she walked through death's door once, and has teetered on the welcome mat hundreds of times before and since then.

She will always be seen as "Commander Shepard" in the eyes of the people, their war hero and savior; here, she is not Commander or Captain, she is only Jane Shepard.

At least, for tonight.

Her apartment chimed as the main door opened, her eyes were too focused on the game's opening level cutscene to turn around, but she knew who returned from their day of paperwork and bureaucracy, _bullshit_ as she liked to call it.

"Honey, I'm home!" said the gravelly voice across the hall.

Just as her in-game avatar landed on the ground, Shepard turned around to face her husband.

"You know I hate it when you call me that, Kaidan," she replied with an unamused look.

He innocently put his hands up as he walked towards his wife and child. "I do, but I figured I could get away with it when I've got news like this," he folded out a datapad from his pocket and handed it to Shepard.

As she took it, Kaidan leaned over the couch, next to David.

"How did soccer practice go, Dave?"

David was busy protecting Shepard's motionless avatar from hordes of Saren's Geth, but he smiled at the mention of his sport. "Great! I hit that bully Algah with the ball while I was on offense!"

Kaidan sighed and shook his head in disapproval, "David…"

"Used Biotics when I kicked it, slammed right onto her stupid face!"

The father looked at his wife, "please tell me this isn't why you're playing games later than he's allowed."

Shepard could only smirk. "Well, her face was pretty stupid."

David laughed meanwhile Kaidan could only see that his dismay would be rendered moot.

"Mom! I can't hold off these things forever!" said David as he ejected another heat sink from his legendary Turian's sniper rifle.

"Mommy's almost done, I just need to-" she stopped when reading the final statement. "Holy shit," she thought out loud.

"Mom!"

Her left arm activated the Omni-Tool hotkey to send one credit to David's swear jar, AKA Allowance, it was more than worth it.

 _ **In light of these devastating crimes taking place on the galactic station, your recent proposal and speech, the Citadel Council has approved your request for temporary Spectre status in order to combat this criminal who has evaded C-Sec forces.**_

Kaidan got over his disapproval quickly when seeing Shepard's shock.

"Looks like you've still got the same public charisma, Jane."

She struggled to voice her thoughts, "I… I never thought they would accept it."

"All it took were two attacks on the Citadel and a galactic war for them to trust you," joked David.

Part of her was depressed and angry at the thought, but she knew her son meant well, looking on the positive side, she picked up the controller with a smile and shotgunned the first Geth that broke through David's defenses.

Kaidan wrapped an arm around her and gave a light kiss on her cheek. "Should I grab a drink to celebrate?"

"Absolutely," she beamed.

After eliminating her first target, she was able to see which character David selected, a Turian in blue and black, taking down anyone in his way with a reticle aimed at its neck.

Shepard's stomach began to sink at the thought of her former squadmate, _I don't think Garrus is going to take the news very well…_

Kaidan returned with two glasses of expensive wine, only used for special occasions; both of them had enough money to buy their own colony – or a couple colonies – but they never went insane with expenses, both of them saw their homeworld in ruins and it does wonder for putting things in perspective, valuables should be valued, no matter their bank balance.

Shepard's glass came with a straw, Kaidan held it close to her so she could take a little sip from it every time she scored a kill.

"Are you ever going to play as a different character?" asked Kaidan, knowing the answer.

A new cutscene began, Shepard's in-game avatar seemed to be looking at the camera in the same way she looked at her husband right then.

"I traveled across relays so I could get my face and body scanned in their game, why wouldn't I play as myself?"

"For variety?" replied David.

There was lots of playable characters to choose from, including everyone that served under her command, excluding Kasumi who made a career out of not being visible.

Once again, Shepard could only smirk, "please, I make my own variety."

The clock ticked past midnight, the Citadel's virtual lighting determined that it _was_ after hours and dimmed the lights. After an evening of shooting replicated enemies of war, David fell asleep in Shepard's arms.

David was a smart kid, much smarter than Jane as a child, something that she was _very_ thankful for. Her childhood was something David would never experience, not with her as his mother.

Carrying five guns with battle armor in her days as Commander meant that her kid was like a paperweight as she carried him in her arms, it didn't stop her from noticing how rapidly he's grown.

Telling people that her child was a great kid to raise all the time was a lie, he'd grown more opinionated with age and was starting to become more of an independent. Her husband was worried, but Shepard knew that David was just trying on different personalities until he discovered who he really was, and Shepard always respected that.

Some people thought she was a bad parent just for letting her son play war games with her, that these recreations of horrific battles that were so close to the real thing would harm her child.

Shepard always laughed at that.

"You experienced the real thing," she once said to a fellow parent in a public event, "I've witnessed events that would make a Krogan's balls shrink, what my son sees is _not_ the real thing and I make sure that he _never_ does."

Even the most extreme of entertainment personalities weren't able to oppose Shepard in her comments, for them, it would be career suicide.

She knew that her words carried weight and that people look at her differently as a speaker, mother, and leader, and as much as she hated to admit it, she got used to it… a long time ago.

Feeling a slight vibration on her wrist, her Omni-Tool's clock hit 1:00am, and she was still wide awake. She despised it when she wouldn't stop thinking.

"Jane…"

Shepard closed her eyes at the sound of his voice.

"Come get some rest… you'll need it tomorrow," said Kaidan from the bed.

"I won't be able to," she replied.

Kaidan didn't respond, he effortlessly went back to sleep.

Things were not bad between them, but they weren't great either… they hadn't been for a while. Shepard could live with that, since climbing the ranks in the Alliance, she's used to things being bigger than herself or those who are close to her.

She could deal with the lack of passion, romance, and fucking if it meant that her kid could be raised in a safe place. That's why she requested the council for permission to become a spectre one last time and take down this master criminal… that's what she partially thought at least.

The other part felt that she's been twiddling her thumbs for too long, she's felt too normal and that she is now committing one more selfish act to retain her own sanity.

Logically, they could've just sent another Spectre after this "Goliath" who's inhabited the largest crime syndicate on the station. Granted, there weren't many Spectres left, even after all these years.

The best of the best are hard to come by, especially when most of them were killed in action during the war, with a new generation of Spectre's still being trained.

Looking out the window, she thought endlessly about her future; what waited next for Captain Jane Shepard, Victor of The Reaper War; her head used the bulletproof glass window as a pillow once her eyes began to shut.

Then, she felt it.

Her eyes opened to witness the cause for less than a blink, a blade pierced the skin of her neck, penetrating the muscle tissue, blood weeping down her neck, staining her shirt as Kaidan's eyes opened in shock.

It moved inside her one fatal inch, oxygen vanished, body limp but conscious. The worst part of all, she couldn't bawl, blink, or utter a sound of her own will. Uncontrollably wheezing one final rasp until her killer let her die, a corpse before her cheek touched the floor.

"Jane!" screamed David's father across the room.

A heavy energy blast echoed in their home, the bass of it shaking windows, almost shattering, and waking up their son.

"Dad?" shrieked David, waking up, jumping out of bed and running from his room.

"Mom?"

Heart pumping as he ran into the living room, tears blurring his eyes.

Then he saw it.

Blood staining the floor one footstep at a time, trails appearing on their own, an invisible being that left behind the clot of David's parents.

The child screamed, shrieked, and cried at once, a sound anyone nearby would remember until the day they faced their own demise and yet, the being, this... monster, ignored him.

David ran to the safe located on the nearby wall, entering the combination from memory, 05-08-2137. He reached in and found the perfect weapon that contoured to his palm, a custom made Pistol that wouldn't fit in the hands of any Alien.

The first gunshot reflected off of the sharp walls; jittering hands, closed eyes and an open mouth combined for something no one could ignore, except for this murderer.

A microscopic mass effect generated bullet pierced metal and the hidden creature was forcibly revealed.

David didn't stop shooting as it came closer, his finger pulled the trigger as fast as an ancient machine gun fired, before it could overheat, this demon drew his own weapon, a hot blade, smeared in blood.

David could no longer scream…

Or stand…

Or cry…


	2. Chapter 2

**The Tracker of Goliath**

 **Chapter 2**

" _ **The legendary savior of The Reaper War, Commander Jane Shepard was found brutally murdered in her home along with her husband and fellow crewmate during The Reaper War, Major Kaidan Alenko, and their eight year old son, David Shepard."**_

" _ **Reports have flooded news organizations around the galaxy, mourning the tragic murder of one of the Galaxy's living heroes."**_

" _ **The Citadel Council has released a statement about Commander Shepard's devastating murder, and have not made any further comments regarding rumours about Jane Shepard's request for Spectre status being accepted."**_

" _ **The Executor of Citadel Security has made no comment other than they are mercilessly hunting down Commander Shepard's killer, but if this ever eluding Goliath was able to horrifically execute Commander Shepard, her husband and their eight year old child, will C-Sec truly be able to protect anymore families who are in danger?"**_

Beauty never lasts forever, organically or artificially, and the Citadel was proof of that in the eyes of Theron. Truly, he never saw the ancient structure at its most divine, two years before he arrived, a ship – thought at the time to be Geth – invaded the galactic capital.

Damages on Tayseri Ward were fully repaired on the day the Reapers attacked Earth, within months, all of Citadel station resembled ancient World War I photographs. Towers crumbling, debris crushing citizens, scraps of Reaper ships crashing into Wards and indoctrinating nearby refugee camps.

Simplifying war with a start and end date ignores the epilogue of disputes, conflict, and death, C-Sec's war continued while humans launched parades on the cleaned streets of London.

Struggling its way up the last twenty floors, Theron stepped out of the elevator and continued where he left off, swiftly moving between citizens of this crowded street; at the corner of his eye, he could see what was making people gather around.

Three C-Sec officers pinned down a lonely Quarian whose crime remained unknown, whatever he did now resulted in a Turian hand choking his neck, a Krogan crushing calves, and human running her hands over the skin tight suit, ostensibly patting him down.

Once a single Human had brought everyone together, the only way for people to go after that was down. Tragedy follows the same pattern in Theron's research through E-Books on every species; when it ends, prejudice returns.

Quarians and Geth settled their differences, but despite the Executor's orders to give more respect for both, most of his officers struggled to let bygones be bygones.

Theron kept moving, he only had two blocks left before arriving at his destination. Strolling through neighborhoods with food banks, manual windows and tarps used as makeshift doors.

Shalta Ward was dubbed "Shitward" after the war, and with this being Theron's first time setting foot in the region, he understood the reasons why, uninterested in finding more, he proceeded.

At night Theron researched other species and cultures, by day, he was a Tracker. Simplified as "Hitmen of Synthetics", Trackers were beyond even the most advanced of technical engineers, the only people that came close to them were the brightest of Quarians.

Ever since the War, synthetics had integrated into society. They were treated as individuals like everyone else, it was around this time that another race revealed themselves.

Known as the Virtual Aliens to those in the council who first met the species, they're now known in the galaxy as the _Ions_.

Facing extinction by supernova thousands of years ago, one billion Ions uploaded their conciseness onto multiple supercomputers networked aboard a single starship. Rumor has it that they made contact with the Citadel before the war started, but were only revealed to the public once it concluded.

Their unique ability was to transfer their consciousness into any being, organic or synthetic, and take control of them. Owners of the body vessel would have their consciousness uploaded into the Ions virtual world that they've lived in for the last eight thousand years. Simply put, when one goes in, another comes out.

While many were petrified by the rapid expansion of Synthetics capable of individual thought, slowly, the majority began to adjust. The Geth seemed adamant to remove their troubling past involving the Quarians and give help to all communities that needed it.

When it was discovered that the Keepers – a mysterious race who kept the Citadel intact – were destroyed in the Reaper War, the Geth offered to take over all the work they did and after much debate, the Council accepted.

Trouble is, when someone has freedom, a select few will become more trouble than they're worth.

Trackers are masters of technology and know every minuet detail of the Geth, Ions, and AI's. They study these species from the moment their capable of thought.

Today, nearly all trackers are in their teens.

That's just one reason most people don't take them seriously, the other being that they have no real jurisdiction or legal career, as a result, the few Trackers who exist live on contracts and bounties.

To his knowledge, Theron was the only adult Tracker in the galaxy, not that he felt like it. It didn't give him any favors when encountering others of his profession, other Trackers saw him as a fake, someone pretending to be something they're not.

In reality, Theron's just a fast learner.

He studied everything about the Ions construction, weaknesses and background while everyone else was learning how to walk. Since completing his personal exercises, he's since focused on studying organic cultures.

Those cultures were what still dominated Citadel station, as evident by Theron's arrival at his destination; Saria Station. Used for dropships and public transit vehicles, it was one of the few places on Shalta that went mercifully undamaged by Reaper attacks.

The organics of Shalta overran the station with support groups, foodbanks, and makeshift shelters for the homeless. Theron's breath quickened as he received many looks from people, not recognizing him as a local.

Sneering new arrivals at a public transport station didn't make logical sense to Theron, not that he would argue with the ignorant. The last thing the illogical want to be told, is they are exactly that.

Theron navigated through the crowded entrance and arrived at one of the many terminals, detecting his presence, a transparent hologram VI appeared, displayed as an Asari, still the most desired species of the Milky Way.

"Welcome to Saria Station," greeted the program. "How may I assist you?"

"I am looking for a ship that is scheduled to land here, registered as an ACU-FLT15," said Theron.

"Yes," the VI affirmed. "An ACU-FLT15 is scheduled to arrive at this station in five minutes and thirty seven seconds, it will be located at Gate 42. On foot, the journey to your destination will take approximately ten minutes."

Theron didn't thank the VI, instead picking up the pace and heading towards his designated gate. He may spend his time dealing with the lowest of synthetics, but he did always appreciate a machine's lack of formalities.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Tracker of Goliath**

 **Chapter 3**

The unit on Theron's hit list was a Geth by the name of Apex, it traveled the Galaxy working for one crime ring after another. At this time, Apex is under the command of Goliath.

Practically every Synthetic in C-Sec's records is under Goliath's control, granted there are far less Ions under its grasp, but that had more to do with how many there were in existence compared to the Geth.

Theron arrived at Gate 42, seeing Apex's dropship, right on schedule, but something felt wrong. Sounds of rattling and screeches emitted from behind the dropship. Saria's limited security force often left many of the gate's self-policed, something criminals of Shaltaward used to their advantage.

Going through the gate and quietly stepping around the ship's stern. Theron stopped when he saw Apex, it wasn't alone and it wasn't far from the aircraft, yet it no longer walked. The Tracker observed as a group of three – a Turian, Human and Batarian – used Omni-Blades to slice off Apex's mechanical legs. The Geth platform screeched and twitched as part of its systems were being cut.

Theron pulled his M8-Predator pistol out of its holster, a tool he only had to use for threats. Seeking attention, he stomped his right foot on the metal surface, the rattle echoing off the walls.

Everyone in the opposing group turned around, not expecting an organic presence; unnerved by their incompetence to notice Theron's arrival, at first they believed him to be security.

Theron kept the pistol to his side, making its presence known, but not in use.

"I am not here to harm you, I am not here to stop you scavenging for parts, I am here to do a job," Theron announced. "If you let me take one minute of your time, you won't see me again."

The group looked at each other, confused by the Tracker, a calm voice and expression coupled with a firearm made for an environment of conflicting emotions.

The Human was the first to back away from Apex and his friends soon followed. Theron kept them at the corner of his eye as he stepped towards his target. Putting the pistol back in its holster, he brought up his Omni-tool and a rectangular device the size of an OSD, simply called a trapper, unique to trackers.

Apex's screech began to reduce, a synthesized voice began to translate the unit's algorithms into speech. Theron felt empathy for the Geth's restriction of language, having to slow down from light speed communicate with your own kind, to aural communication with everyone else must be oppressive.

"I-I-I-I'm exp-r-cin-g major hardwar- mal-l-l-functions," said Apex.

Theron entered the security code for his Trapper, out of three main settings, he selected "Contain."

"Will y-y-ou assi-st-st me?"

Theron placed the Trapper onto Apex's neck, the device magnetically attached itself as it scanned the Geth's AI-Core and began extracting its encoded "consciousness". The twitching Geth platform quickly shut down, its body becoming limp.

Theron detached the Trapper, and tucked it in his pocket. The motionless Geth laid on the ground, Theron didn't think anything of it, and left it behind for the scavengers to rip to pieces.

Dead organics weren't very useful. Synthetics however contained many qualities and are worth quite a lot in Citadel space and the Terminus systems. Whether the parts are used for black market augmentation or melted down and molded into firearms, synthetics had lots of worth to those who needed the credits, or enjoyed destroying them.

Theron always made sure to get to his target before scavengers did, he was sloppy this time, but managed to still get the AI before it shut down and wiped its memory.

The Tracker contacted a cab service a few blocks from this part of the Ward and headed over to Citadel Security, a force that would begrudgingly reward him.

The much faster elevator at C-Sec headquarters descended as Theron held the Trapper in his hands.

The Geth remained as distant adversaries to the Quarians for three hundred years, and while two generations of Quarian citizens lived and died, those same Geth remained.

When a Geth is uploaded into the Trapper, their systems are activated but unable to perform any action. The Geth don't feel pain or emote in the same way organics do, but as Legion proved, they're capable of individuality and desire.

The Geth's AI will recognize that its actions resulted in a wasted run-time and once it is released from the Trapper and C-Sec's custody, will find a new line of processing.

That's what Theron liked about the Geth, they were submissive; for all their talk of fighting for their life at all costs, Theron never felt threatened by a single flashlight head. All he needed to do was show a bit of force and they would give up, upload into the Trapper, work out their problem, and walk away never to cause trouble again.

AI's … those bastards were a whole other story.

The speedy elevator opened its doors to reveal C-Sec's main floor, Theron marked out the female Human receptionist at the front desk, Taylor.

Taylor didn't like Theron, as evidenced by her apathetic expression that she only wore in front of him.

"We received reports of scavengers disassembling a Geth at Saria," she said, her tone being much harsher than her facial expression. "Know anything about that?"

Theron's look reflected hers, muted, unintentionally – he didn't know how to communicate his body language – but it only upset Taylor more.

She sighed, keeping to traditions and asking the same question.

"What is it this time?"

He put down the Trapper on her desk.

"Apex, wanted on Terra Nova, Thessia, New Arcturus Station, The Citadel and approximately eight other highly populated planets. His criminal activity includes nine murders, twenty cases of smuggling, trafficking, multiple charges of drug possession, and one speeding ticket of 600 kilometers an hour."

Taylor rolled her eyes and took the Trapper off the table, handing it to a Turian in uniform next to her.

"Hands this over to the Techs."

Her fingers danced over an Omni-tool's sheen before Theron's beeped. The credits were sent to his account and the job was officially complete. He bowed his head slightly in acceptance, not that Taylor appreciated it.

She shook her head as he turned to leave. "Next time don't bother listing every minute thing it does okay? You can memorize useless information, congrats."

Theron wore a thick mask on top of thick skin, his middle aged appearance didn't make people like him, not when they learned of his profession. In this line of work, he felt it best to keep his speech minimal.

His index finger clicked the elevator key, its cue to descend.

"Theron," said Taylor.

The Tracker turned around, just as the elevator opened its doors.

Her apathy combined now with a hint of surprise. "The Executor would like to speak with you."

Theron kept his own surprise internal, never-the-less, he couldn't imagine a single reason why the Executor would be interested in him. C-Sec have never arrested him, they technically could but it would only hurt their already delicate relationship with Trackers.

His other question would be answered by the indifferent woman.

"The elevator will take you to his office," she said.

Confused but cooperative, he stepped inside the lift. Doors shut, and the enclosed capsule began climbing each floor, surpassing the level he entered previously as the elevator continued to rise. Stopping on the highest suite, the doors opened to reveal a relatively normal looking captain's quarters.

Theron hadn't seen many of them, the ones he did were usually belonging to those who were not so honorable. The Executor arose from his desk, reaching for something in the right drawer before standing straight in-front of the Tracker.

"Theron, glad you could come up," said the Executor.

The Tracker bowed his head.

The Turian gave a handout; this puzzled Theron, from his studies, Humans were the only ones that commonly made this gesture.

Regardless, Theron accepted, shaking the Turian's hand.

"As I'm sure you know, I'm Executor Vakarian, head of C-Sec. Officially it's my job to know when people like you arrive here but reality isn't so kind."

Vakarian gestured Theron to take a seat – which the Tracker accepted – the Executor's last words featured a sudden dash of melancholy.

"What do you mean?" asked Theron, unable to remain silent.

Vakarian thought he could say it without pause, but as little as it felt like it, only a day had passed since he heard the news.

"I'm sure that you have heard of the death of Shepar-" he stopped himself. "Of Commander Shepard."

Not understanding if it was a question or a statement, Theron struggled to fill the silence Vakarian created.

"Yes?" he said with hesitation.

Vakarian put his hands together, eyes peering down at his desk.

"I know the killer, I've known it for a long time," Vakarian gently moved a datapad to the end of his desk for Theron to reach. "He's given me nothing but trouble."

Theron gripped the datapad and scanned its contents as the Executor continued to explain.

Vakarian looked at the datapad with disdain in his eyes.

"Now he gives me grief … along with the rest of the galaxy."

Goliath, the infamous crime syndicate leader; C-Sec's file on him featured little of anything, no picture, date of birth, species or gender. The only thing listed were his charges, none of which he'd been brought in for.

Theron didn't learn anything new from the file, putting the datapad back on Vakarian's desk.

"Do you have proof that it is Goliath?" asked Theron.

Vakarian gave the Tracker a sealed bag, in it were small traces of shrapnel. Theron realized the instant his eyes laid upon them, that these metals didn't belong to a Geth or synthetic assistant. It was wholly unique, and unnerving.

Vakarian's lingering grief faded a little, replaced with fury.

"Techs were unable to match these with any synthetic in our database, and Shepard would never let herself be killed by a Geth, I know her. She could take on a battalion of them single-handedly."

Theron tried to feel as much of the metal as he could through the plastic that covered it, still unable to attribute it to anything he's felt, smelled or unfortunately tasted.

The Tracker gave this evidence back to Vakarian.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked.

The Executor looked him directly in the eye.

"I want you to find it, make it suffer, and kill it."

Theron hesitated, "Synthetics can't suffer, they don't feel pain."

"Make it feel pain."


	4. Chapter 4

**The Tracker of Goliath**

 **Chapter 4**

Apex was meant to be the Tracker's final target on the Citadel for this year, but the Executor's offer couldn't be resisted. Trackers occasionally earned a decent paycheck, but the market place remained exclusive and highly competitive. Despite Theron's experience and reputation as the best, sometimes he would go on for months without earning a single credit.

The chance to earn two-hundred and fifty thousand from the head of C-Sec for a single job exclusive to Theron was something that no other Tracker would be offered.

His time for studying today would be delayed as he left the Executor's office to meet with an officer who had experience with Goliath's crew. No one ever saw the leader in charge, but they saw his minions everywhere, mostly synthetics. The news that Goliath may be artificial himself would tie in with that, it's much easier for a synthetic to control others rather than organics.

Theron stepped through the elevator's doors once again, finding himself in a large open space, replete with cubicles, accommodating many ranks of employees, from traffic enforcers to investigators.

The man Theron met was caught between the highs and lows, neither a commander, nor a grunt. He was a Drell and he carried himself with a distinct burden, one he's in control of, but will forever linger.

"Theron, yes?" asked the Drell in uniform, "I'm Officer Krios, the Executor let me know that you were coming. Please, take a seat."

Theron accepted the offer, noting how many materials on Krios' desk matched his dark blue and green skin; Krios retrieved three datapads from said desk and put them within reach for Theron.

"These are the cases I've been a part of that are related to Goliath," said Krios.

Theron began to scan everything in the same manner as he did with Vakarian's writings.

They all had to do with smuggling, the Geth were volunteered replacements for the Keepers but with the amount of Geth roaming the Citadel, it wasn't difficult for hard for Goliath to send his own units out there posing as labor workers while trading illegal goods.

Krios sighed. "Most of the officers here have at least one case related to this brand of smuggling, we haven't been able to pin any of them on the people involved, let alone their leader."

"Why?" asked Theron.

"Goliath is able to pay many of the poorer citizens to keep quiet, and we can't arrest them without a cause, that just gives more ammo to the news that already throws plenty of cheap shots at us. We need to have a legal reason for their arrest, yet every time we finally have a chance, Goliath's able to cover up its supplies or remove evidence from our own offices."

"How are they able to do that?"

"We have no idea. Security, red tape and suspicion among employees here has erupted since Goliath rose to power, yet it's still able to retrace all of its mistakes before we can forge a case."

Theron listened with intent as he scrolled through each of the datapads, he felt that something of value could be extracted from these, but not at a first glance. He would need to revisit them once he returned to his apartment. Setting all of datapads onto the officer's desk, he rose from the chair.

"I hope it isn't trouble but, I need to rest before I can begin retracing this thing's steps," said Theron.

Krios seemed surprised, Theron didn't mean for that to happen. Aware that he's not the best around people, the Tracker wondered if he would ever understand fellow organics.

"Are you sure?" asked Krios. "The Executor has granted you access to anything you need, including my case files."

"I understand, but I'm capable of recalling anything I need to assist in my findings."

Krios felt surprisingly embittered. Bewildered, he didn't respond when Theron quietly said "Thank you," before turning around to leave.

The officer would eventually shrug it off, he's certainly dealt with far worse in his years on the job. He didn't know how to feel about his Bosses decision to hire a Tracker, but he met Shepard, even prayed for her as his father would've wanted. Shepard meant a lot to Vakarian, her shocking murder devastated Krios. Within the week, Krios would normally be speaking to the priests as he always had since reconnecting with his Father.

Now, he didn't know if he wanted to talk to them, now, or forever.

When he prayed for Shepard with his father all those years ago, Kalahira; Goddess of Oceans and Afterlife was the listener. Maybe, if he prayed for Arashu; Goddess of Motherhood and Protection, Shepard, Alenko and their child would not have been taken to the Afterlife so soon.

Kalahira and Arashu would not hear from Krios. Amonkira; Lord of Hunters would hear one final wish from him.

Grant that Theron's hands be steady, his feet swift and his drive unmatched; should his goal not come to fruition, grant him forgiveness.

Reading is something Theron did a lot of very quickly, couple that with memory that's effectively photographic and a fast extranet connection; his apartment remained barren, there were three things he deemed as necessary. A bed for sleeping, a chair for sitting, and desk resting things on.

He's been to other people's living quarters before and was surprised by just how much stuff the average citizen has. The Reaper War certainly didn't make people any less peckish towards superficial items.

Yet, Theron couldn't help but envy the public's need for the worthless and banal. He traveled all around the galaxy, renting one apartment every two weeks; first half of the month may be spent on the beaches of Terra Nova, the next half may have him smelling burnt bodies from his flat's window on Omega.

Useless items are only given meaning under a personal context, toy ships, soccer balls and non-digitized photos didn't mean anything to Theron, he didn't have those things in all his years and he couldn't have them now.

For the past three hours, Theron spent his time flipping through page after page about Goliath. The Citadel has gone through many phases of crime operators, every five years or so, one king will stumble down their throne and be replaced by someone else, who will stumble down five years later.

Eight years ago, that's exactly what happened.

A Salarian by the name of Razor – which the media had _so_ much fun with – was competing against The Golden Sun and The Indocta. The two were crazies, consisting of a renegade off shot of The Blue Suns Mercenaries, and people who believed The Reaper's Indoctrination was the next step in evolution.

Apex was meant to be Theron's final target on the Citadel for this year, but the Executor's offer couldn't be resisted. Trackers occasionally earned a decent paycheck, but the market place remained exclusive and highly competitive. Despite Theron's experience and reputation as the best, sometimes he would go on for months without earning a single credit.

The chance to earn two-hundred and fifty thousand from the head of C-Sec for a single exclusive job to Theron was something no other Tracker would be offered.

His time for studying today would be delayed as he left the Executor's office to meet with an officer who had experience with Goliath's crew. No one ever saw the leader in charge, but they saw his minions everywhere, mostly synthetics. The news that Goliath may be artificial himself would tie in with that, it's much easier for a synthetic to control others rather than organics.

Theron stepped through the elevator's doors once again, finding himself in a large open space, replete with cubicles, accommodating many ranks of employees, from traffic enforcers to investigators.

The man Theron met was caught between the highs and lows, neither a commander, nor a grunt. He was a Drell and he carried himself with a distinct burden, one he's in control of, but will forever linger.

"Theron, yes?" asked the Drell in uniform. "I'm Officer Krios, the Executor let me know that you were coming. Please, take a seat."

Theron accepted the offer, noting how many materials on Krios' desk matched his dark blue and green skin; Krios retrieved three datapads from said desk and put them within reach for Theron.

"These are the cases I've been a part of that are related to Goliath," said Krios.

Theron began to scan everything in the same manner as he did with Vakarian's writings.

They all had to do with smuggling, the Geth were volunteered replacements for the Keepers but with the amount of Geth roaming the Citadel, it wasn't hard for Goliath to send his own units out there posing as labor workers while trading illegal goods.

Krios sighed. "Most of the officers here have at least one case related to this brand of smuggling."

"Why?" asked Theron.

"Goliath is able to pay many of the poorer citizens to keep quiet, and we can't arrest them without a cause, that just gives more ammo to the news that already throws plenty of cheap shots at us. We need to have a legal reason for their arrest, yet every time we finally have a chance, Goliath's able to cover up its supplies or remove evidence from our own offices."

"How are they able to do that?"

"We have no idea. Security, red tape and suspicion among employees here has erupted since Goliath rose to power, yet it's still able to retrace all of its mistakes before we can forge a case."

Theron listened with intent as he scrolled through each of the datapads, he felt that something of value could be extracted from these, but not at a first glance. He would need to revisit them once he returned to his apartment. Setting all of datapads onto the officer's desk, he rose from the chair.

"I hope it isn't trouble but, I need to rest before I can begin retracing this thing's steps," said Theron.

Krios seemed surprised, Theron didn't mean for that to happen and wondered if he would ever understand fellow organics.

"Are you sure?" asked Krios. "The Executor has granted you access to anything you need, including my case files."

"I understand, but I'm capable of recalling anything I need to assist in my findings."

Krios felt surprisingly embittered. Bewildered, he didn't respond when Theron quietly said "Thank you," before turning around to leave.

The officer would eventually shrug it off, he's certainly dealt with far worse in his years on the job. He didn't know how to feel about his Boss' decision to hire a Tracker, but he met Shepard, even prayed for her as his father would've wanted. Shepard meant a lot to Vakarian, her shocking murder devastated Krios. Within the week, Krios would normally be speaking to the priests as he always had since reconnecting with his Father.

Now, he didn't know if he wanted to talk to them, now, or forever.

When he prayed for Shepard with his father all those years ago, Kalahira; Goddess of Oceans and Afterlife was the listener. Maybe, if he prayed for Arashu; Goddess of Motherhood and Protection, Shepard, Alenko and their child would not have been taken to the Afterlife so soon.

Kalahira and Arashu would not hear from Krios. Amonkira; Lord of Hunters would hear one final wish from him.

Grant that Theron's hands be steady, his feet swift and his drive unmatched; should his goal not come to fruition, grant him forgiveness.

Theron's apartment remained barren, there were three things he deemed as necessary. A bed for sleeping, a chair for sitting, and desk resting things on.

He's been to other people's living quarters before and was surprised by just how much stuff the average citizen has. The Reaper War certainly didn't make people any less peckish towards superficial items.

Yet, Theron couldn't help but envy the public's need for the worthless and banal. He traveled all around the galaxy, renting one apartment every two weeks; first half of the month may be spent on the beaches of Terra Nova, the next half may have him smelling burnt bodies from his flat's window on Omega.

Useless items are only given meaning under a personal context, toy ships, soccer balls and non-digitized photos didn't mean anything to Theron, he didn't have those things in all his years and he wouldn't have them now.

For the past three hours, Theron spent his time flipping through page after page about Goliath. The Citadel has gone through many phases of crime operators, every five years or so, one king will tumble down their throne and be replaced by someone else, who will stumble down five years later.

Eight years ago, that's exactly what happened.

A Salarian by the name of Razor – which the media had _so_ much fun with – was competing against The Golden Sun and The Indocta. The two were crazies, consisting of a renegade off-shoot of The Blue Suns Mercenaries, and people who believed The Reaper's Indoctrination was the next step in evolution.

Razor was a sadist, but unfortunately for the Citadel's population, a highly intelligent one. Even so, his empire was brought down by the ever persistent C-Sec.

Yet, within one month, in came Goliath and he's ruled supreme ever since. No one has seen him, let alone bring him down.

Theron thought about what could happen to him if Goliath ever set eyes on him. Theron also thought about what he could do with 250,000 credits. Maybe he could take a break, buy a prop, and obtain some meaning from the meaningless.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Tracker of Goliath**

 **Chapter 5**

Theron didn't need a cloak to be invisible; neither ugly nor beautiful based on his readings of facial expressions, not one eye could double take.

It made his job so much easier than if he'd been ripped from a Fornax catalog, and unlike appearance, his skills never diminished.

Due to what his race called Insomnia, he left the apartment and strolled through the art district of Tayseri Ward. Here, the beauty was the district itself, not the advertisements dominating each other Ward.

Musicians, painters, authors, directors and designers of all crafts and forms contributed to this heavily damaged part of the station. Sculptors took crushed metals and built statues out of them, commemorating the lives lost for the Galaxy.

Theron was one of a lucky few who remained isolated to most of the conflict, but his admiration of the people who lived through it knew no bounds. His lack of talent in creating art only gave him more respect to all the amazing minds that conveyed so much from rock, words, and images.

Once he completed his job, he would need to continue his studies of the world he stood in. For now, he paid more attention to the Geth workers nearby.

The Geth being a homogenous sentient race, had a surprising amount of variety when it came to their species, but most of the time, it'd be four units moving in sync.

Tonight, the group he saw consisted of four units and a Colossus. Previously used for destroying heavily armoured vehicles, the four legged behemoth was converted to hauling the largest of materials. Metals, concrete, chemicals, anything heavy.

Theron recalled part of the documents that Krios gave him, information the officer received from the Council.

When the Geth took over the Keeper's duty, they'd update the Council with routes of the station. Due to how much construction is happening on the Citadel at all times, the Geth sometimes make adjustments to their directions; because of how the Geth uniquely process information, they're unable to provide the Council with a live feed of their movements.

This is how Goliath could get away with his squads of Geth, unless they entered an unused part of the station, Goliath's minions could take any path they wanted and the public assumes they're labor workers.

Theron asked one favor from C-Sec and within the hour, midnight workers supplied him with the latest pre-planned Geth routes. He arrived at Tayseri not long after, spotting this Geth squad almost immediately, and began following.

He glanced at his Omni-tool, seeing that the Geth squad in front hadn't deviated from their predetermined course.

Theron re-considered being here, the statistical odds of stumbling upon one of Goliath's shipments weren't insurmountable but they were improbable. He could've stayed in his apartment and focus on searching for information in private.

Theron was used to having everything given to him, people normally had the materials to accomplish their goals while lacking the ability to use them effectively, and that's where he came in.

This situation with Goliath was different, no information existed. All he knew were Goliath exists, it's synthetic, it controls every culture of crime on the Citadel, and everyone is horrified by it.

For a piece of technology, it understood fear very well, and how much it damages the organic mind. How incapable it is to resolve such emotions, resulting in poor decisions.

Decisions a Synthetic mind wouldn't make, unless commanded. That could be the only explanation for the Colosess to veer off of its course.

Theron's feet sped up, his eyes surveyed the area, left forearm beamed with light emitting from the holographic computer as it displayed the Geth's supposed path.

Tayseri Ward was one of the most heavily populated on the station, but all locations have their shadows and the Geth stomped into one of them. Instead of heading straight and going past the refurbished Concert Hall, it steered left.

Theron glanced at his map, detailing every building on Tayseri. Left from the Concert Hall was the Memorial, high-rise apartments, and a few human history districts that were closed.

Theron couldn't conceive a single logical reason why a Geth squad would head in this direction, and nothing blocked the Synthetic's predestined course. He didn't know what these machines were doing, regardless if they were under Goliath's control or not, this disturbed the Tracker.

Theron found himself gravitate towards the Geth's direction, mirroring its path, walking down a near vacant block, apartment windows blurred and absent of light set above the mechanical slaves. His target's feet clacked in unison, the lone contributors to the sound waves in this street.

That changed, Theron's ears picked up on a sudden, but soft echoing whistle, followed by a ping that could only be processed for a split second. The ping emitted off of the tank on the Geth's carrier. The tank exploded into a hail of fire; the colossus was reduced to a shower of sparks, metal and hydraulic fluid. Apartment windows shattered, concrete crumbled and Theron's feet left the ground.

Ears rang, eyes burned, and back cracked as he slammed into a pillar; shocked, his body failed to breathe, lungs struggle to gather the oxygen required.

People screamed, children ran, sirens wailed and Theron didn't hear any of it. White noise and a slow beating heart flooded his auditory senses. The fire dissipated, replaced with smoke and chemicals, Theron could taste it as he gaged for air.

Air that he wouldn't have for much longer.

Not if it remained like this.

For once, in a long time.

Theron was terrified…


	6. Chapter 6

**The Tracker of Goliath**

 **Chapter 6**

Theron coughed out the last of the chemicals he breathed in hours earlier. Theron's back received burns and bruises from top to bottom, requiring lots of medical aid. The headrest was party overlaid in medi-gel applied to his scalp, ceasing the blood loss.

"How is he?" asked Krios within earshot.

Footsteps came within audible distance.

 _My hearing capabilities are still functioning, comforting._

"He's fine," said a female voice unfamiliar to Theron. "Just a couple low degree burns caused by friction and a light blow to the head, medi-gel has already fixed most of the damage."

Theron's bed side revealed Krios and his fellow employee, a petite raven haired woman, born in a family originating from the former South America region; based on her appearance and accent.

"Theron, how do you feel?" she asked.

"Serviceable."

"I'll take that as positive," she shrugged. "He's all yours, officer," glancing towards Krios before walking away.

He thanked the medical chief and looked at Theron, offering his hand to assist with the Tracker's physical challenges.

Lightheaded, Theron held onto the Drell's hand and balanced himself against the bed he just rested on, question being for how long?

"You've been here for five hours, it's now early morning," said Krios. "Do you need to be escorted to your apartment? You didn't sleep much."

Theron shook his head, his eyes locked on the officer. "I'm going to be okay, I don't need more time. What happened after the explosion?"

Krios sighed, shaking his head. "Witnesses in nearby apartments say they heard a gunshot before the explosion, can you confirm that?"

Theron remembered how his senses peaked upon hearing the gunshot, not that he had time to process what it had been at the time.

"Yes, I can."

Krios relaxed at Theron's words, observing that the Tracker really had recovered.

"Someone fired at the Geth's cargo knowing that it would cause the explosion. Only people in nearby apartments heard the shot, and nobody reported a muzzle flash of any kind. That can only be done with a modified Sniper Rifle equipped with a suppressor."

"Suggesting that someone or something with weapon expertise was behind this attack."

"Was it an attack though? Nobody was killed, you received the worst of it, no offense. Speaking of which, why were you there?"

Theron leaned off of the bed, attempting to stand up straight on his own.

"I arrived to observe Geth patrols, see how they worked and operated. Using the Geth map your colleagues supplied to me, I realized the Colossus I followed went off course. I followed it down the empty street and that's when it erupted."

Krios looked down at his left forearm as he received a call, one click met with a familiar Turian appearing on the holographic computer screen.

"Krios, what's the status on Theron?" asked Vakarian.

"He's fully recovered, Executor. He only received minor injuries."

Vakarian appeared to be slightly relieved, but no less stressed.

"Good, tell him to meet me in my office," replied the Turian before disconnecting.

Krios looked at Theron, "are you feeling able to walk?" he asked.

"Yes, I'll be able to arrive at the Executor's office alone."

Theron admitted to himself that he should've requested the Drell's assistance in walking to Mr. Vakarian's headquarters. Perhaps that famous human pride still showed itself after such selflessness in the Reaper War.

After gaining his balance, Theron stepped through Vakarian's office doors, the opening gateways revealed another female voice, though this one was much more recognizable. One that has traveled across the Citadel's airwaves for hundreds of years.

"-ublic opinion is not going to sympathize, Executor; they are going to be asking _you_ why this attack happened, "said the Asari councillor, standing tall as a blue hologram.

"Perhaps you should take some responsibility as one of the three leaders of this station who decided to bring on the Geth as labor workers," replied the Executor.

Neither of them were pleased.

"The Public was already aware of our decision, since it was made, our approval ratings haven't diminished."

The Asari Councillor remained compellingly reserved.

"Approval ratings that have _no_ influence on your decision to recuse yourselves from this?" questioned Vakarian. "I accepted your offer to take this position, so don't play dumb with me, Tevos! Your election is only three months away!"

His rising voice unnerved the Councillor, the Executor's assumptions seemed to have merit, Theron admitted.

"The Citadel Council is responsible for the Citadel and occupied systems, Citadel Security is responsible for the safety of this station. This incident compromised the safety of this station. It won't matter if I stand at your side, Garrus, the public will blame _you_."

An unnerved Councillor would fight fire with fire, observed Theron. She wasn't an adversary of the Executor, but she wouldn't let herself be wounded in Vakarian's battle. The Turian resented her but he didn't continue the argument.

"Is there anything else I need to know?" he sighed.

"Yes, it's why I'm contacting you, before our conversation deviated. You have a visitor coming from the Terminus systems."

"Who? Why? Last I checked, dealing with the Terminus was not in your interest."

"She arrived on the Presidium thirty minutes ago, she should arrive at your headquarters in ten minutes."

" _Who_ is arriving in ten minutes?"

"Farewell, Executor. Good luck."

"Thanks for the support," said Vakarian as the Asari form vanished from the communication line.

The displeased Turian fell into his captain's chair, with bitter frustration stitched onto his expression. He greeted Theron with a nod, informing that there was no fault on the Tracker's part for coming in while he conversed with Tevos.

"Do you know if the Colossus destroyed was one of Goliath's shipments?"

Theron shook his head. "I am unable to confirm that. It deviated from its programmed course but that's not conclusive proof it was under Goliath's control."

"So if Colossus did belong to it, a rival crime establishment made an attack?"

"You could say that," said a female voice.

The latest of which Theron did not recognize. It didn't come from the communication systems, instead, her voice was heard from the space he stood in.

Before he turned around, he saw the Executor's expression. One even more displeased than his exchange with the Asari Councillor. The Turian stood very straight, signifying intimidation.

"You are not supposed to be here," he said, his flanged voice sending a low growl.

Theron turned to see the visitor, an Asari, deep purple skin from top to bottom, thin black markings imprinted on her face, one with sharp eyes that could pierce any ego, and replace it with seductive fear. Her tight Asari Commando outfit exposed parts of her smooth skin, topping it off with a custom jacket that only added to her mystery.

"From my understanding, Garrus, Councillor Tevos already made you aware of my arrival," she replied with a coy smirk.

"She failed to mention a name."

"Perhaps she was concerned you would flee, you have gone soft since we last spoke."

"Some people on this station would disagree with that."

"Then they're ignorant to the facts. I remember when you just did as you pleased back on Omega, as long as it didn't piss me off."

"Would you like to tell me why you destroyed a Geth Colossus on my station?" he yelled, making the Asari's grin fade away. "And why Tevos is okay with letting you on here after damaging Tayseri Ward?"

She crossed her arms, out of confidence rather than defense. "You may find it hard to believe, but I am here to help you-"

The Executor sniggered.

"More accurately, I am here to help you catch someone due to your incompetence," she sneered.

"You say that as if you're one to judge," he replied staring down, his three fingered hands firmly planted on his desk.

Unfazed by his counter, she stood tall. "If you had a spine, you would insult me directly, not tiptoe around your point like an infant."

The Executor pushed himself away from the desk, he paced himself in-front of the Asari to point an accusatory finger at her head level.

"You lost Omega to the Illusive Man's _second_ in-command. You couldn't even take it back on your own, you had to get Shepard, a woman putting the Galaxy at risk just so she could save your own personal rock!"

"And why do you think I am here!" she exclaimed, her tone rivaling Vakarian's for noise levels, "I know what she did, I know what she meant to you, I am fully aware that without her help, I probably would be finding a new line of work. So you will stop your emotional bullshit and let me take down this fucker for you!"

The Executor stepped away from her, turning around to retreat back to his office chair. "That's not going to happen. I personally know two Krogan Warlords that I could trust more than you."

"Really?" replied the Woman, sitting down on the front of his desk, her long slender legs hovering over the solid ground. "Why don't you contact someone else you trust?

"Get off of my desk," said Vakarian.

"It's because you're gutless."

"Get off."

"You're not willing to put yourself in real harm."

"Get off."

"You don't understand that this Goliath is going to break you."

"Aria. Get. Off."

His voice grew quieter, yet it only sounded more threatening. He didn't look at her, couldn't. The Asari, Aria, stood once again, facing him directly.

"I'm not asking for permission, Garrus. I've already transferred an elite team of my best Mercs on Omega, they're setting up a main headquarters on Zakera Ward, the 600 blocks region, you can drop by whenever you wish; though I suspect that won't happen."

She turned towards Theron, surprising him with her attention.

"Who are you?" she asked, closing the distance between them, she had two inches in height above him.

"Theron. Tracker. I am currently here to assist in hunting down Goliath. Your explosion lead to very recent injuries inflicted upon me."

She narrowed her eyes, feigning an apology. "Oh I'm sorry, next time I'll make sure that they wait for you to politely move before taking the shot."

"I only did what I thought would best serve the investigation."

She sighed, twitching her left finger, activating one Omni-tool shortcut. His lit up, showing a VIP coupon to the _Players Nightclub_.

"Since you're doing actual work unlike my friend here," tilting her head in Vakarian's direction. "You're free to come by our HQ, send us any information you find. But before you do, for the love of whatever you believe in, get yourself a dance … or a full package. I can tell when someone needs it," she opined, marching past the Tracker.

Overlooking her shoulder, she took one more look at the Executor. "I've always respected you, Vakarian. You never were my adversary. You're not this," she gestured to the shiny Government paid quarters.

Aria's echoing boots lightly screeched the surface before coming to a close, as did the elevator doors.

"Well, that's one way to begin a shift," sighed Garrus.


	7. Chapter 7

**The Tracker of Goliath**

 **Chapter 7**

In the eyes of a modern galactic community, the Ions had it easy. For eight millenniums while species fought over control, wealth and most recently their existence, Ions spent all of that time plugged into a digitized world.

As the Rachni perished and reappeared during the Reaper War, Ions were oblivious as their starship's AI flew from system to system, waiting for the day someone in this galaxy revealed themselves.

Declan had been twenty years old ever since the cataclysmic event occurred, a supernova, destroying their home and nearby colonies; just on the cusp of spaceflight expanding to travel towards the mysterious Relay network, built by at the time, unknown sentient life.

For the last eight thousand years, Declan could only be a young adult. Without a body or mind, no one matures in the virtual world. His species never expected to have their temporary home become permanent, and the ship's AI never constructed simulated organic decay.

His people couldn't age, and they couldn't die.

His older sister, Ira, had her baby born on the day before detonation. For the first week inside what would become his new home, Declan watched his sister live the happiest time of her life. Despite the horror and destruction, all that mattered to her was her baby. The predictions made it seem as though it would be too late, that she would need to upload her being into the ship's supercomputer before she could give birth.

But her daughter wanted out, she arrived three days early; all Ira could feel was relief.

At the beginning, Declan's species didn't have to work, sleep or worry. Personal responsibilities were drastically reduced without health or jobs to uphold. Their ever decaying planet was replaced with a virtual Eden, a digitized paradise so endless that it boggled their coded minds. All these people had were themselves and their wonderland. Yet after that first month, Declan witnessed his sister change. Ira's bliss became the illness, a pain emitted whenever her baby cried and screamed, when her husband stopped looking at her, and when there was nothing new to see in this gorgeous utopia.

One month became two, two became four, and four became eight, until nearly a year had flew by. Never ending and never changing.

First day of the New Year, Ira took a kitchen knife and screamed as her blade pierced the skin of her wrist. Her former husband lived too far away and was too entranced with another woman to hear her cry. Her tears and shriek culminated when Ira realized the point she'd been driven too. Suicide; something that in this simulation, couldn't be done. She'd have to live with this for potentially, the rest of her endless life.

Ions, a race proud of their rationality, objectivity, logic and reason, were beginning to snap. The leaders of Declan's people realized what had happened to those like Ira, their vacation ended, their minds accepted Eden as the norm and they needed to return to their lives. That couldn't be done, but their leaders began to try; volunteered workers built structures, buildings, and businesses.

After the failed suicide attempt, Ira gave her child away to an adoption group, Declan moved in with her, and went to go to work.

Currency was re-introduced, economies expanded, companies were started.

One billion people lived for eight thousand years, nobody died, nobody aged, and nobody could be born.

Declan made friends, worked hard and tried to connect to his sister. His friends considered the life he had a success, but even with the flashes of light that came from Ira, he knew that she could only wait. Spending her days sulking, waiting for the opportunity to leave this place, and truly live her life.

When rumors began to spread of someone new entering the virtual world, someone who found their ship and came in as a representative for the galactic races living in the galaxy, Ira smiled by her own admission, the first time in five centuries. Within the year, four hundred specially selected members of the community volunteered to leave their virtual world and enter the uncharted world, in a new body, as a new species.

Declan and Ira entered their names for consideration, but thousands, perhaps even millions wanted to leave, and those four hundred nominated won the lottery.

Ira was crushed that she wasn't selected, but Declan expected it, and assured his sister that their chance would come.

Dr. Jordan Detweiler was the man who entered the virtual world, as much of a step for his species as it was for the Ions leaving. He laid low upon his first encounter, only wanting to converse with the world's leaders, but as the years passed by, he became a public icon to Declan's people.

This "Human" only made things better for them, as other species from outside of the virtual world volunteered to join this Eden paradise that Declan and Ira despised so much. To them, it was an opportunity, an incredible place that people were willing to sacrifice their real lives to exist in.

It helped alleviate a problem that the Ions had been hopelessly dealing with and that was the lack of new citizens. Now, new people arrived by the boatload, and even if the people coming and going were a small amount compared to the Ions overall population, it still benefited their species as a whole.

Companies that had been previously stuck in a limbo had new resumes to read and people to hire.

At long last, all the pain, misery and waste of breath begun to pay off.


	8. Chapter 8

**The Tracker of Goliath**

 **Chapter 8**

Declan clicked down each step, the staircase taking him someplace unfamiliar to him. Unbelievable, there wasn't a square foot of this world that Declan hadn't stood on, and yet, he descended into a dark, deep passage.

The previously blinding light that shown behind him was now a speck, each stepped made he did out of muscle memory rather than sight, if the next step lead to an infinite black hole, Declan wouldn't have the faintest clue.

After five minutes, he tripped up. The surface flattened, stairs had ceased and he stood in the centre of a pitch black room.

Declan jumped when the wall in front of him lit up with a pixilated screen, sound cracks bouncing off the walls in sync with each over-exposed digital block.

"Declan?" said a voice.

It was one that the man immediately identified as not organic, then again, technically, neither was he.

"Yes, I am Declan," he replied.

"You have requested to be transferred into council space."

Declan was no singer, but he couldn't help but be surprised by the artificial voice to be so… lifeless. VA's were monotone and spoke very technically, but this being went far beyond that.

"I requested that both my sister, Ira, and I be transferred, if it's possible. It's been fourteen years and we still haven't been selected by chance."

"This is why you have contacted me."

"Yes."

Declan stared helplessly at the flickering screen, unable to identify anything from it. Perhaps it was done simply as way to confuse the person in contact with Goliath, it worked.

"You're species selection is unfair, Declan. Mine is honorable, but that does not mean you will be selected to accompany this legion."

"What do you mean?" questioned Declan, slowly.

"I am putting myself and everyone that works for me at risk by providing this service for your people. As far as the citizens of Citadel station are aware, your people only arrive here with written permission by the Council. I am running fifteen programs, across eight networks with multiple forms of encryption, just to have this conversation, Declan. Therefore, I need something in return."

"Such as?"

"Services of your own. What have you accomplished in your virtual reality?"

Declan's mind locked up, he didn't expect a career evaluation. His panic leveled when his rational took control, just as his species was known for.

"My first registration took place on the 99th year since our virtual world's creation. I helped constructed the first roads, offices and megastructures that stood. All three major business of our world have enrolled me and I spent two and half thousand years working confidently for each. My qualifications are unsurpassed in the field of architecture and forging. From what little I know of this world you come from, it has enough of what I know for my skills to be applied trustfully."

Declan paused for breath only when he finished, his brain taxed itself to list everything he's done.

"What about your sister?"

" … "

Declan's heart sank.

He stood outside of his home, one that he would soon, no longer call "home."

The door opened automatically when he neared the sensor's proximity, giving him less time to think of his explanation. Hoping that Ira was fast asleep upstairs, like she had been for so much of her life here.

She stood in the centre of the room, her 5'5 stature appearing much taller than it normally did. Her face was innocent, excited, hopeful.

"Well?" she asked.

Declan thought back to the days when he was innocent, excited and hopeful, but scared. That's where his sister came in, Ira the big girl who took charge and showed Declan the ideal VA. Calm, intelligent, but loving.

More than ever, he missed those days.

"I'm going," said Declan.

Her sister smiled, but before she could jump and hug him affectionately, he _had_ to interrupt.

"Just me."

Ira's face didn't change for twenty agonizing seconds. Her happiness was frozen in time while she processed what her brother, her loving brother just said to her.

Ira hit Declan, his face rippled, feet left the ground, bones broke and Declan's cheeks hit the floor equally as hard as Ira's punch. He hadn't know what it was like to be hit, and he never would've thought the first blow would come from his sister.

Collapsed on the floor, shocked and out of mind, Declan struggled to get back to his feet, the shame kept his knees to the ground. The culpability of his words was the double whammy, the inner guilt that made Ira's fist feel more like a dagger.

He turned as his knees were off the floor. Ira bawled more than her husband's abandonment, more than her child's arrival at the orphanage, more than her child's birth. All for a single but valid reason, it was him.

He abandoned her.

"Leave." She cried.

Declan looked at her, begging for forgiveness.

"Leave." She cried again. "Don't look at me, don't talk to me, don't ever come back to me; here, or out there."

With his sister in ruins, he left, doing as she commanded.

The door closed, as did his eyes.

Was it worth it?

 _Now it has to be._


	9. Chapter 9

**The Tracker of Goliath**

 **Chapter 9**

Declan clicked down each step, the staircase taking him someplace unfamiliar to him. Unbelievable, there wasn't a square foot of this block that Declan hadn't stood on, and yet, he descended into a dark, deep passage.

The previously blinding light that shown behind him was now a speck, each stepped made he did out of muscle memory rather than sight, if the next step lead to an infinite black hole, Declan wouldn't have the faintest clue.

After five minutes, he stopped. The surface flattened, stairs had ceased and he stood in the centre of a pitch black room.

Declan stood tall as the wall illuminated, complete with flickering pixels that perplexed him long ago, now it triggered Déjà vu; his previous feeling of hope within a damaged mind came back, punching him in the gut.

"Declan?" said the voice.

"Yes, I am Declan," he replied, sarcasm wrapped around each syllable like a Human's present.

"Derision is something that will only affect an organic mind, Declan," said Goliath. "You were a line of code ten years ago. I appreciate your earnest interest to be more alike your new species, but don't echo their shortcomings."

Declan's mandibles clicked, sharp finger tips dug into the thick skin of a clenched fist.

"We weren't emotionless drones, Goliath. All we had was a high tolerance. One that in my case, is beginning to crumble."

"Melodramatic words will not grant your wish. What will, is what you have done successfully, the reason I have come to speak to you after ten years. You should be proud of your creation, Declan. You've done something that no one else has managed to assemble."

Declan's mind policed itself, keeping track of his voice as he spoke.

"That means I have met the first part of our deal," said Declan, his flanged voice expressing a neutral tone while still making a statement, not asking a question.

"Yes, and it is now time to initiate the final operation"

Declan took a long deep breath, not knowing what would be asked of him, but that it would be very bad.

Never as bad as betraying his older sibling. One that didn't stand on real ground with three fingers, face tattoos and a real heart sustained with real actual blood.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Eliminate the target."

"No," said Taylor.

"Yes!" said Conrad.

As she did the last dozen times in-front of Conrad, she sighed. This adding to her monthly number of sighs that typically reached the hundreds, sometimes thousands.

"Can't you please give me clearance!" repeated Conrad, his eyes trying to replicate those of a very sad puppy.

Taylor's were more alike those of a Lion, a very angry Lion.

"I will not give you access to Executor Vakarian's office."

"Oh come on! Garrus and I are old friends! We go way back! I heard about what happened to Shepard, it's awful. I need to go up there and make sure that he's okay!"

 _Jesus, I need a drink … at 9am._

"Executor Vakarian is perfectly capable of doing his job without your support. Now leave before I have security escort you out."

 _Go on. Say one more thing, so I can call them._

Taylor's index finger laid right over the specially designated button made for situations like this.

"I need to go up there and reassure him. He doesn't know this, but ever since it happened … ever since this horrible atrocity happened. I swore an oath to enact reveng-"

Conrad, over his proud speech, heard the click of a certain key. Three officers made for their cue.

Taylor covered her mouth with left hand, her eyes of a Lion expressed luxurious felicity; reveling every whimper from the boy pretending to resemble a man. She heard the story from Jenna about Conrad, how he leaped to take a bullet for Commander Shepard. Taylor was skeptical.

 _Full of shit is what she is._

Thinking of Jenna reminded Taylor of her earlier days in Undercover. People may be looking at her now, but at they now look at her face instead of chest … for the most part.

Things could've been worse, she's survived worse, but dealing with the bottom of the barrel that is the Citadel community, she couldn't help but want to punch her clock early and head out to be there with Jayden.

He was slowly drifting away. She expected it, just not that it would be so soon. She would roll her eyes at every Mother beginning a sentence with "I remember when they were just a baby."

A cliché that Taylor could now respect, it's exactly how she felt. The day when she quit undercover is the day she applied for the chair currently occupied by her; dealing with scum and dummies day in and day out. At least in this line of work, there was a day out.

Her shift winded down, five o'clock in the afternoon was only five minutes away. The hours she took were filled with dregs and dolts, but her replacement dealt with the third D-word, drunks; some pissed enough try to opening conversation for the next D-word in the catalog.

Her first day on trial, Taylor's co-worker didn't know what that fourth D was; she more than found out during the night.

Just as the clock hit 4:59, she saw a Turian walking towards the front desk. Tall, handsome … guilty, making him less handsome. Taylor only saw guilty men and woman approach her desk on a few occasions, but they were striking enough for her to detect on sight.

"Can I help you?" asked Taylor, assuring the Turian with her "polite" voice.

His steps toward her slowed down in pace, by the time he reached the edge, his momentum equalled nil.

"I would like to report a murder."

Taylor's mind had to process his statement for a moment. Unsure of this man's credibility. Some pranksters were _very_ sick, and yet, his eyes made her stomach crawl dread.

"By whom?" asked Taylor.

"Me."

Her hand hovered over the backup key, seconds befall until Taylor's mind came back to fruition.

"Your name?"

"Declan."

Heavy combat boots stomped the floor as Taylor's backup received the message to arrive in arms.

Garrus remembered when the interrogation room had been his natural habitat. Learning techniques of how to unnerve or calm down your suspect, when to lower or raise your voice and when to sit and stand.

Whether it had been the lowest form of scum or the highest paid diplomat on the station, Vakarian has many memories of the people he's met in this place.

Now, in a time where he became accustomed to walking by this area, he stood outside of the mirror window with the son of his fellow squad-mate, a pirate queen, and a Tracker.

To Garrus, it sounded more like the start of a joke told by one of his fellow soldiers during shore leave.

Had it been a joke, the subject would've been dark and demonic. The Executor looked at their guilty suspect; contempt, abiding but fretful.

"Does he have a record?" asked Vakarian.

Krios read from a datapad. "He skipped his term in the Turian military, never entered under an officer's command. He's stuck to the underground sections of the Bachjret Ward. Ten years ago he briefly went off the grid, only to resurface as a member of Goliath's crew. He's been working for them ever since."

"Was he ever charged?"

Krios shook his head. "He's never committed any serious crimes, but it seems that he's gone through two phases."

"How so?" asked Aria.

"When he became an adult, he laid low, not drawing attention to himself in anyway."

"Makes sense," said Garrus. "A Turian felon is likely to be thrown in as cannon fodder in our military."

"Exactly, but since ten years ago, he's quit secluding himself. Now he works for Goliath, just without being a grunt."

"Until now, you mean," said Aria, crossing her arms, unimpressed with their suspect. "He's not made for killing, all that time avoiding wars just made him pathetic. Look at him."

Theorn conceded with Aria's conclusion. Judging from Declan's sulking and uneasy appearance, he understood Aria's conclusion given her experience and background.

Theron gathered information to address his own burden, a suspicion that would be confirmed once he's seen Declan speak and defend himself.

Aria felt bitter and cold, more so than usual. Her crew were gathering traces of evidence in their headquarters on a lead. She detested the Citadel, always had, and yet Garrus was surprisingly generous in how little he intervened.

She heard the stories and backlash of his leadership, how much people on this station loathed Vakarian's lack of red tape and harsh judgments, allowing officers to do their jobs no matter how. These frail citizens had survived hell, and yet they point their fingers and shriek at the head of security, claiming C-Sec has formed into being a Mercenary corporation.

That's what Aria respected the most about the Turian, he helped make this place a little more bearable for Aria, because he valued strength, control and loyalty.

He'd do anything to protect this construct, whether the people would thank him or spit in his face.

"How do we handle the interrogation?" asked Krios.

"Theron and I will watch from here, you and Aria get what we need to know."

Aria's eyes widened for a split second, Krios paused to consider the Executor's order.

"This man is wracked with guilt, won't he be a little intimidated by her?"

Aria opened her mouth to speak.

Garrus interrupted her, keeping his attention aimed on Krios.

"That's the point. She'll put the pressure on while you empathize with him. I've dealt with the likes of him before, trust me, Kolyat."

The Drell didn't appear to be one-hundred-percent certain according to Theron, but he agreed to his leader's last words.

Aria stepped in front of the Turian.

"I'll need a measure of how much pressure I'm allowed to give. You're aware of how I deal with fuckers like him on Omega," she said, glancing towards Declan through the glass.

"Nothing along those lines. Be authoritative, not aggressive."

"One and the same."

"Aria."

"I've got it," she firmly asserted. "I won't be flailing anyone with my mind. Even though it would be less boring."

The Executor just sighed, his bored expression amusing the Pirate Queen as she walked past him along with Kolyat.

Theron eyes remained drawn to the guilty Turian across the glass. Doors opened to greet the presence of the good and bad duo. Aria put both hands on her hips, as her long slender legs appeared to move with more purpose, as did her toned hips.

This confused Theron, not understanding her intentions. She didn't make any mention of it, but now she strolled into the room, looming over the guilty man accentuating her captivating form.

Looking towards Krios, Theron didn't see any of his confusion being echoed by the Drell. Kolyat calmly sat in his chair, in front of the Turian, meanwhile Aria crossed her arms and stood.

Glancing at the Executor, Theron couldn't detect any bewilderment. In-fact, Garrus seemed approving and understanding.

Theron disregarded his inner musing and focused on Declan, ready to listen intently to every word.

"Declan, I am Officer Krios and this is Aria T'Loak, she will have some questions about you and your boss. You said this is about Goliath."

Declan nodded, only making eye contact with Kolyat. Silence deafened the vacant room, as Krios and Aria waited for their suspect to talk.

"Out with it," said Aria, growing impatient.

"I want to make an offer."

The Asari laughed meanwhile Kolyat stared, contributing to the klutzy aura that baffled him so much.

"You've admitted to murder Declan, what do you have to offer?" asked Aria, smiling lightly at their foolish suspect.

"I have not supplied you with intelligence needed to warrant my arrest. All you have is my statement, one that all courts – based on probable cause – will declare me mentally compromised and I'll be escorted to a recovery intuition. But I won't be going to prison."

"You could always just walk into an institution and say that Saren was really on to something, it'd be much faster."

Garrus noted that Aria's enticing aura, meant to discomfort their suspect, couldn't maintain itself. Now it was back to her classic self, laced in sarcasm and disregard. In this case, Vakarian couldn't blame her.

But Declan was a coward, not crazy; for some reason, Garrus didn't write off their suspect. Neither did Kolyat.

"What are you offering?" asked Krios, doubt still prevalent in his voice.

Declan's palms rested on the table, firmly in place.

"I want the charges dropped, protection and someone brought to me when this is ove-"

Aria shook her head, her hand placed on her temple, not knowing which question to ask him first.

"He asked what are you offering smart guy, not what do you want."

"I was unable to finish due to your disrespecting cut off."

Aria looked behind her, through the glass window, knowing exactly where Garrus stood. He read her expression as "What the fuck am I doing here?"

"To continue," said Declan. "In exchange for all of this, I will give you everything I know about Goliath."

The Executor's heart skipped a beat, a rush he hadn't felt in many years. His logically deduction calmed him down, as he realized, one sentence shouldn't make him as emotional as he once was.

"How can we confirm your information?" asked Krios, not accusing, but not forgiving.

"Anyone can say the guy's name or spout some bullshit about his day job," added Aria.

"I've worked for Goliath since 2190 and I've spoken to him. I believe I am able to reveal things you are not aware of."

The Asari uncrossed her arms. "Such as?"

"That his main headquarters is located in the northern region of Zakera."

"Where?" said Kolyat, instantly taken in by Declan's appetizer.

"That is all I can tell you without an agreement made in writing."

Aria leaned against the wall, observing Declan from a distance.

"Congratulations, you gave us the name of this station's most popular Ward! Want a hooker?" she mocked.

"That is all I am willing to say on the matter and your comments are not accomplishing progress."

"The same can be said about you. Why are you here? You've given us nothing and are just wasting my time."

Theron eyes looked towards the Executor, even as his head remained directed at the suspect. "Tell her to ask him why he didn't join the military."

Garrus turned his head to look at the Tracker, beyond confused.

"Why?"

"It will confirm to you what I am certain of.

Wondering but willing, Garrus sent a quick message to Aria as she berated Declan, meanwhile Kolyat couldn't disagree with her and remained quiet.

Aria listened to Declan spout more bullshit as her and Krios received a message from Garrus, telling them to ask Declan a certain question, one that seemed unrelated to the discussion at hand.

"Declan," started Krios. "Why did you avoid enlisting into the Turian military?"

The Turian appeared surprised by the question, but not for the reasons anyone but Theron expected.

Silence violently returned to the interrogation room, as Declan seemed to be searching for answers.

"Hello!" said Aria, startling the Turian. "Are you all there?"

"I apologize, it's just, I haven't thought about those years a long time."

"You haven't ever thought about why you didn't join the military your people require you to enlist in by law?"

Theron recognized that Kolyat and Garrus put the pieces together. Vakarian looked at the Tracker, impressed.

"Why didn't you just tell us?"

Theron continued to stare at the Turian. "I needed to be assured. I have studied many different subjects, my specialty in A.I. being why I selected my line of work. VA's are a new problem, they're not Synthetic, nor are they Organic. However, they are not impossible to detect."

Garrus pondered where Theron's theory was going.

"I've heard rumors that someone is intruding their Virtual World, Goliath is the only one with the resources to do it."

"Now you have someone who proves it," said Theron.


	10. Chapter 10

**The Tracker of Goliath**

 **Chapter 10**

Declan entered the final letter of his name into the datapad, setting down the agreement with a sigh of relief. They accepted his requests all because of Goliath. Declan knew the Asari did not think highly of him, but very clearly, these people weren't interested in him.

Now, he hoped that the information he could supply them with would be satisfactory.

"We'll be able to contact your sister within the hour, she'll be guaranteed access out of the simulation," said Krios.

Declan hadn't been easy to stun, but his eyes grew wide. His sister, after all these years is now going to be here in a moment's notice. Uncontrollably, his body started to feel uneasy.

"Does she have to leave right now?" he asked.

Aria made it very clear she had enough of Declan's squeamish demander.

"You just whined to us about getting your sister out – after failing to mention that you are an Ion – and now you want us to wait? Councillor Tevos is a bitch, but she's not yours."

Declan kept his disrespectful comments internal, something that Aria seemed incapable of.

"You misunderstand. You're aware that Goliath knows everything, I don't want my sister taken out of the simulation until I can be assured that she's safe."

Taking a seat next to Kolyat, Aria crossed her arms and sneered.

"I hope your information is helpful then, otherwise your sister may be trapped for eternity even with your agreement."

Declan's eyes narrowed.

Kolyat cleared his throat.

"Now that we agreed, Declan; tell us what happened."

The Turian rubbed his hands together nervously.

Theron had been surprised by the soul in this Turian body; while calm and collected, Declan accentuated his emotions more so than the average Ion, more influenced by his organic peers.

Ions are either very upfront about their origins or utterly ignorant, and decide to take this new persona as their lifelong soul. To do this, these people need to do an awful lot of research on their past, who their volunteer was, their personality and what they accomplished.

Typically, it wouldn't be remarkable. Normal volunteers are usually trying to escape something in the real world, be it debts, danger, or depression. The Citadel would accept pretty much anybody, but it would take some time to arrange, and it featured a more than substantial waiting list.

Declan wasn't associated with the normal system.

"Goliath is what allowed me to leave my world," said Declan. "Logically, we made a deal before the upload transfer. My job for him had been predefined, and I would need some time to adapt to my new body. Our species may be very similar to most organics but it doesn't change the fact that it's been eight thousand years since we weren't strictly software."

"What was your job?" asked Kolyat, listening intently.

Aria didn't seem to care, but knew she already spoke her mind.

"Builder. I made things, structures, bases, anything that Goliath wasn't able to acquire by shipment. Most of his synthetic workers would assist in my tasks, but after a period of years, I was elected as project leader for most of Goliath's constructions."

"You're well informed in your field, how so? You've only lived on the Citadel for ten years," said Krios.

"That does not mean I am ten years old. It may have been if I entered the virtual world at that exact age, but I was twenty five when the supernova occurred. I had the mind of a mature adult when I was uploaded to our virtual world, I worked tirelessly in it and obtained knowledge from it, knowledge I've applied working for Goliath."

Aria wanted to remain silent, but as a woman who lived through multiple centuries, she didn't expect to have as many questions as she did.

"You gained knowledge from your virtual world, does that mean a five year old Ion leaving it is eight times smarter than an Asari Matriarch?"

Declan shook his head, but with positivity; surprised to find that explaining how his people function was oddly rewarding.

"The Asari have the benefit of multiple stages of wisdom, but that's not how it works here. When we live in the virtual world, our brains do not age like an organic. That is mostly okay for adults, but for our children, they have been forever trapped in their state, unable to grow beyond childhood. They are able to still learn new skills, but only at the capacity of a child's understanding."

The Executor became annoyed by the speed of which the topic at hand deviated. Yet he couldn't help but listen, as did his acquaintances interrogating Declan.

Encouraging himself to stay on track, he sent another quick message to Aria and Kolyat, informing them to keep Declan on course. Before so, he turned to Theron.

"Is this what you found in your research?" he asked.

Theron replied with a nod rather than words, appearing to be as fascinated by Declan's people as Garrus was.

"If you've worked under Goliath for ten years, when did this murder that you committed take place?" sparked Krios.

"Last Night."

Aria seemed doubtful. "You're a builder. Why not get someone else?"

"ROCAM, a small Turian cult who attacked us recently. As I'm sure you are aware, they discriminate any race other than their own, especially synthetics. Goliath thought it would be appropriate for me to eliminate his target in one of their gatherings."

Aria chuckled, but with a distinct lack of humor about it, morose; she glanced towards Krios. "How many cults does your station have?"

Kolyat sighed, asking himself the same question for years. "The Citadel is considered the galactic capital. It's inevitable that mentally unstable citizens show up once and a while."

"Once in a while?" echoed Aria, looking over her shoulder at the window, knowing exactly where Garrus stood behind it. "Your boss should just send his goons to wipe out anybody getting funny ideas, it works for me."

Tempting the Executor into sending another message, Garrus stood his ground and didn't respond, thankful his ire expression couldn't be seen for Aria's viewing pleasure.

"Who was the target?" asked Kolyat.

Declan sat straight, taking time to select his words.

"Deus."

"ROCAM's leader?"

"Real name Patar Varnis. 55 years old, former Turian military, dishonorable discharged in 2179, lived alone until he began the cult, and making himself ROCAM's self-proclaimed "God".

"And he renamed himself Deus?" asked Aria.

"Yes."

"Subtle."

Theron felt confused by Patar's choice of a Latin word to use against his adversaries. Then again, he didn't appear to be - from everyone's brief descriptions – a very smart Turian.

"How did you kill him?" inquired the Drell.

Declan hesitated, Vakarian couldn't figure out if it was from word choice or remorse, not being able to tell may already be enough of a warning.

"They welcomed me at one of their gatherings, I remained close to Deus for a long time until the meeting concluded. When everybody disbanded, I followed him home… that's where I killed him."

"With?"

"…with an Omni-Blade, it's a tool I'm familiar with since working for Goliath."

"Where does he live?"

Kolyat readied his own holographic wrist computer. Microphones recorded everything said in the interrogation room, but it's always good to make copies of everything.

"321 Shalta, he's in apartment 205. As far as I'm aware, he's still there."

There'd been no mention of this death on the news, no one reported anything unusual coming from the 300 blocks in Shalta, then again, knowing what sort of apartment complexes existed on Shalta, this didn't surprise Kolyat.

The Executor opened a call to dispatch, ordering one detective and an accompanying squad car to investigate the address.

"What did you do after killing, Deus?" inquired Aria, continuing the interrogation.

"I returned to base and forwarded the news to Goliath," said Declan.

"You couldn't just give him a call?"

"Goliath uses his own encrypted network, communication over public lines about a crime would be unsound."

"How did he take the news?" asked Kolyat.

Declan wasn't fazed by the barrage of questions, switching from the officer and pirate queen; Ions don't fall to pressure very easily.

"He appeared to be satisfied."

"What about when he gets word you're ratting him out?" countered Aria.

"He will not be pleased, which is why I needed the agreement signed. No one is able to face Goliath on their own."

Garrus felt his heart sank at the implication of that statement. Reminders of Shepard's death would plague him for the rest of time.

"Okay," began Aria, her expression grew cold. "Truth is, I don't give a shit that you killed some lunatic who threatened your own. Now tell me what I want to know."

Kolyat didn't enjoy where this was going, but he shared Aria's frustration. Declan's information on ROCAM was ultimately, useless.

"Direct communication with Goliath is made in an underground floor in our main building's headquarters," said Declan.

Everyone's attention peaked.

"It is entered from a hidden staircase, the information of its location is only given to his second in-command and department leaders."

"You said direct communication," echoed Kolyat. "Did you meet him in person?"

Declan shook his head. "I spoke to it over the encrypted network and engaged in conversation. Normally, it does not correspond in this method. Traditionally, it speaks to all of its workers by sending messages to the leaders, who then repeat it to the workers; this is for organics. Synthetics, it communes by signals sent to them, and they obey."

"You mean to tell me that even the department leaders haven't seen, Goliath?" challenged Aria.

"No one has seen, Golia-"

"Shut the fuck up," stated Aria, leaving her chair and stepping out of the room, each step with enough force to crack the floor, leaving Kolyat alone in an awkward silence with Declan.

Surprised by Aria's sudden withdraw, he slowly stood out of his chair and left Declan in the room.

Theron recognized Vakarian's displeasure with Aria's presence, but now he was furious.

The footsteps of Aria and Kolyat could be heard from the hallway, Garrus seemingly prepared for the following onslaught of insulting language. Theron felt disconnected once again, never understanding people's need to vent their outrage instead of focusing on the task at hand.

The doors opened with Aria looking like she would ignore her earlier comment, and indeed flay someone alive with her mind.

"This is bullshit," determined Aria.

"Why are you here?" accused Garrus. "If you're not able to _let_ our suspect give you the information that we need, why are you here?"

"You are going to let me take him to my base."

Stunned, Vakarian had to process what Aria said. Kolyat, standing next to the pirate queen, appeared to be equally as baffled. Theron stuck with procedure on how to deal with this scenario, remain silent and distant, allow the participants to vent their illogical anger.

Garrus chuckled, amused as he was baffled. When the Executor opened his mouth to speak, Aria cut him off.

"You know that Declan is not telling us the full story and he is not going to tell us the full story. The only option left is to let me and my team try to force it out of him."

Theron, surprised himself, by walking between the two of them, needing to comment. "Declan is an Io-"

"So what?" exclaimed Aria, her eyes filled with rage.

"They reserve emotions, interrogation techniques are not going to make him voice thoughts that are otherwise, reserved."

Theron didn't appreciate Aria's reactive expression, as if she caught something beneficial to her, what did he say?

"You noticed too, you can also tell Declan is not telling us everything, and has no urge to."

Aria stood proud as Theron stood silent, his honesty did the opposite of help his verbal conflict with the pirate queen. Everyone involved had the same sneaking suspicion. The Executor agreed with her assumption, what he did not condone was her "solution."

"Garrus," began Aria, knowing that she interrupted his thoughts. "I've watched you hunt down thugs half as questionable as this guy, why are you going to treat him like royalty?"

"We have standards, Aria," he defended.

"Any standards you had were lost a long time ago, Vakarian," she replied without a hint of empathy. "Do you really think people still see a hero when you're on that screen? No. They see a man who is rapacious. You never wanted the job, you wanted the control, the power, the right; all so you could prove yourself to her."

Kolyat took a small step back, meanwhile Aria took a great step forward. Vakarian's face appeared cold, while his emotions burned. The Executor's fist clenched and shook from intensity.

"You are walking _very_ thin ice, Aria."

She stepped closer, her height as equal as the Turian, pride in herself and disappointment in the man who stood in front of her, quivering like a naked Quarian.

"They hate you, Garrus, because you put her above them; now if that's true, let me take care of Declan, so I can kill the fucker who murdered her!"

She yelled in his face, and he didn't move. His fist was formed but still; he couldn't ignore her facts, because that is what they were.

Theron stood concerned, reminding himself how this began. Did he logically calculate that accepting this job was the correct option? Why was this conversation happening? Why did their suspect remain in a prison while his Boss and acquaintance enable a clash of emotional turmoil?

Kolyat walked up to both of them, unsettled by where things have gone.

"Executor, I am able to continue gathering evidence from Dec-"

"Let her take him."

Kolyat's eyes widened, quickly returning to normal as he gained his composure. Garrus felt enraged by Aria's ego, her gratification could be witnessed by anyone on their floor. Combat boots clicked down C-Sec's halls as she left the Executor, Tracker and Officer on their own, making a very important call to bring in backup to escort Declan.

"Kolyat, meet with the investigators at Shalta, see what you can find," said Garrus, hoarse in his words.

"Yes, Executor," the Drell replied instantly, relieved to be out of the conversation.

Garrus appeared to be relieved that it was over; with Aria focused on her call and Kolyat gone, Vakarian only had his head and all the thoughts that come with it.

He saw Theron standing there, bland as the gray wall behind him.

"Anywhere you need me to investigate?" he asked, seemingly aware of Vakarian's judgement.

"Follow me," said the Executor.


	11. Chapter 11

**The Tracker of Goliath**

 **Chapter 11**

Garrus felt numb to the core, the office's decorations did nothing to calm his senses. He didn't bother gesturing Theron to a seat. The Tracker stood quiet as the Executor took advantage of his afterhours shift, opening a special cabinet. Theron watched Garrus turn around with a bottle of liquor in his left hand, and two glasses in his right. He opened the bottle and poured into his glass. He stared at it for a period, until pouring some more into the other glass for Theron.

The Tracker wanted to voice against this ill-decision, yet he couldn't. This was a scenario he's never found himself in and didn't know which path to take. Rather than voice his concerns, Theron decided to tread carefully and let Garrus take control.

Vakarian handed Theron a glass.

The Tracker seemed confused in the eyes of Garrus, he thought he knew the reason.

"Sorry about the glasses," he pointed, knowing just how different the two looked from each other. "Used to be a pair but one of them I broke. Just an accident."

Theron didn't believe Garrus, but reluctantly accepted the drink.

Garrus took a single swig, leaving nothing but a drop.

Theron watched the Executor slam his glass on the table, surprised it didn't crack.

The Tracker saw Garrus look at him, and took a small sip from the glass to try and keep up with appearances. Being a virgin to alcohol, the 40% of it in his drink took him by surprise. He coughed as the liquid burned his throat. As he covered his mouth, he noticed something irregular, Garrus sniggered. Lightly, but noticeable and not fabricated.

"I probably should've asked if you liked Whiskey," he said with a guilty grin.

Theron took a few short breaths as his cough dissipated.

"I did not wish to upset you, Executor," his air pipes squeezed out.

Garrus sat down in his commander's chair as the Tracker set his glass on the desk. "I apologize for my lack of subtly," he said with regret. "Aria knows how to play me. She does that to people. I always thought her and Tevos had an affair at some point, it'd explain why she's always given clearance, but maybe, Aria just outwitted her."

Theron nodded. "She is captivating."

Garrus snorted. "Then again, all those damn stories about the two of them written online goes against my latter theory."

Theron raised an eyebrow. "I am doubtful of that. It's highly unlikely that a large collection of romance and erotic celebrity stories would equate to real possibilities."

The Turian smiled. "This is probably why she doesn't like you very much."

"I don't believe I am capable of changing that. Her distaste of me seems to be based on my physical appearance."

Garrus shrugged and poured Theron's drink back into his own glass.

"I'd have to disagree. Even if you showed up as a Fornax model, she'd still find you odd. As an experienced model myself, I can tell you looks don't factor into her judgements," he smirked, voice dripping with sarcasm as he drank.

The Tracker contemplated Vakarian's words, Theron made many assumptions based on analyzing his experiences, and yet, for the last week, he's been wrong; more than he ever had been. Theron did not enjoy this feeling of doubt, perhaps he should've finished the drink. Alcohol appeared to help many of his clients deal with repressed emotions.

Since when did _he_ become so emotionally compromised?

Upon swallowing another shot of Whisky, Garrus leaned back, enjoying the sensation that ricocheted down his throat, closing his eyes and relishing.

"Have you ever had someone, Theron?" asked Garrus, eyes shut.

Once again, Theron didn't instantly respond, instead, he stood and thought; unnerving.

"I don't understand?" he asked.

"You know, a girl back home? Someone you met during your travels? Someone you've spent a lot of time with?"

Theron didn't generally lie, instead, he didn't speak. Where others in situations would be bumbling as their mind pieces together a creditable story that another sentient being would believe, Theron would stand and stare without a word.

"No," said Theron, not knowing why he answered.

The Executor's eyes narrowed, at first suspicious, yet, looking at Theron, Garrus saw that he didn't lie.

"Okay, what about family?"

Theron shook his head.

"Your file said you're forty years old."

"That is correct."

Garrus' eyes swelled, returning to normal. Theron didn't notice as he looked away from the Executor, feeling like something crawled in his stomach, he hated it, and Theron didn't hate many things.

"I'm… sorry," said Garrus, not knowing how to reply.

The room fell silent, Theron and Garrus didn't know how to break the ice. Garrus cleared his throat.

"Shepard… she… I don't know. I remember when she came back from the dead thanks to Cerberus, I felt so guilty when she saw me. She was happy at first, not knowing until later that I basically ignored everything she tried to teach me. All of her lessons about respecting command and the necessity of rules, and there I was killing scumbags on Omega without so much as a shrug."

Garrus poured himself another drink. Theron was concerned of his Boss' alcohol intake, but the Executor continued with his speech being uncompromised.

"But she wasn't angry with me, she felt sorry for me."

He chugged down another delicious gulp.

"Even helped me learn a much more personal lesson with a man who betrayed me. She amazed me. Then, one night, we're having a conversation and suddenly, we see each other differently. One comment after another and the next thing I know, I'm sleeping in the Captains Quarters instead of the Gun Battery."

"Sounds… nice."

Theron never used the word nice.

Garrus chuckled. "Ignoring the Collectors, Reapers, and Geth constantly attacking us, yeah, it was nice. Everything was great after we blew the Collectors straight to hell. Then, one night she leaves and goes off the grid, some mission for the Alliance. Two days later, I'm at the CIC watching a relay blow up an entire Batarian system, by her decision. And you know what she does?"

Theron's research led to him discovering all the tales of Shepard years ago. But he realized Garrus' question was to prove a point.

"She just turns herself into the Alliance. Stands a trial, one that she probably knew she wouldn't win!"

Garrus sighed.

"I grew up in the military. My father was as by the book as they came in C-Sec. I could never do that. Put my life on hold for doing the right thing, all to maintain 'honor'."

Even when Garrus stopped, it didn't feel right for Theron to speak, so he didn't.

"When she came back… I was just happy to see her, to be back with her. Maybe if she didn't get trapped on Earth and stayed on the Normandy, maybe the inevitable would've happened earlier."

Theron raised an eyebrow. "The inevitable?"

"I… did noble work for the Reaper War; I had to, if I didn't contribute, I would've been just as bad as the council. But, I only did what was good for others when pushed against the wall. Shepard… she would do it for anything, like it was her instinct. Even if she just stole a fish from the Presidium, she'd obey the rules and deal with C-Sec's procedures, even with her Spectre status. I'm the opposite. I guess we never noticed because we were so focused on saving the Galaxy," he smirked, humourless, ire in his eyes.

"If what you say about yourself is true, why would you become the Exectuor?" Theron asked with genuine curiosity.

The Tracker's studies never explained the emotional reasoning behind people's actions, including Garrus.

Vakarian remained silent, before filling up another glass. "Personally I never thought about it at the time, seemed like a nice distraction from leaving her. But, Aria's right. I did it _for_ Shepard, even if I knew she wouldn't take me back. I wasn't trying to make her beg for me, I was trying to make her regret."

The drink rose and fell back onto the Executor's desk, a chip stinging Garrus' hand as it detached from the glass.

"I took on a selfless job for the most selfish of reasons; to get back at a girl," he shook his head. "Why do I only realize how pathetic I am when talking out loud?"

Theron saw how much his employer hid behind sarcasm like a shield, protecting him from the fire. Yet, he was fascinated, no one had opened up to him the way Garrus was; it begged the question.

"Why are you telling me this, Executor?"

Garrus chuckled, unsurprised by Theron's unintentional bluntness.

"Because I need to talk to someone with no ties. Most of my friends are ones I made on the Normandy, people who feel the same. Those close to me who didn't serve on the Normandy, they've heard the story a thousand times in a thousand different ways; only that I was angry and not being entirely honest about myself."

"Do you feel better?"

"No. Reflecting on my mistakes won't bring in happy thoughts."

Theron nodded, word unable to voice anything worth saying.

Garrus noted the Tracker's tepidness. "I didn't mean to meltdown like this, Theron."

The Tracker stood up, emoting a light smile. "It's not an issue, Executor."

"Thanks, I won't keep you waiting," nodded the Turian.

Theron progressed to the elevator, stopping at the door and turning around when he had another question.

"Executor?" he asked, pleading for Garrus' attention, the Turian provided it. "Do you regret it? Being with her?"

"No."

Theron was caught off guard by immediacy of Vakarian's answer.

"It was and is straining on your emotions."

"You don't need to tell me. Not everything makes logical sense, Theron."

"But… it should."

Garrus shook his head. "If it did, I'd be melted into a Reaper ship fifteen years ago. If it did, I would've remained a cop all my life. If it did, I wouldn't have mingled with my Commanding Officer. Logic isn't always ideal."


	12. Chapter 12

**The Tracker of Goliath**

 **Chapter 12**

"Theron."

"Yes, Mrs. T'Loak?"

"We've almost got him. One more stop and I should have all the information I need."

"Did you acquire favorable answers from Declan?"

The Asari let out and audible sigh. "No. Just a more detailed version of what he was saying back at C-Sec. Some of it may give us some background on his fucking boss, but it won't help us stop him."

"Do you require assistance?"

"I don't need anything, I'd just like an extra hand collecting things. What's his face? The Drell, is still with the Investigators in Shitward, you want in?"

"I will help. ETA to your headquarters, twenty minutes."

"Make it fifteen, this shouldn't' take any longer than it needs to," Aria's last words before hanging up.

Theron began to walk out of the Players Nightclub, an Asari dancer in front of him seemed to emote a scrutinizing look. He did not understand. She received much attention and many tips from all organics around her, he couldn't see why just standing and watching seemed to annoy her.

Exiting the establishment, the fresh artificial air hit him like a brick, replacing all of his senses previously occupied by body odor, liquor, and damaging noise.

Garrus talked about his fondness for nonsense, and Theron ignored his studies to explore this phenomenon. Entering a club, a social place built for entertainment and pleasure, what he observed were people dulling their mind and being around emotions as manufactured as the station's air.

The human woman who took him to a VIP private room and danced for him, Jade, didn't seem to enjoy her work. His reluctant payment for her services didn't make him feel anything that Garrus described with Shepard, so why were people here? This constructed atmosphere of visceral behavior did not present any of its participants with long term gain.

This world anew to Theron did not attempt to confine to his reasoning, neither did no one in it. Not Jade, not the Asari, not anybody. They did not put on a show of enjoyment for him, yet they did for others who bought into their fictitious affection.

Entering a cab and setting the destination, Theron wondered why so many people in there appear to be enjoying themselves. What was it about draining themselves of cohesive thought and relishing in sexually prolific dancers that improved their lives?

Theron wished he had remained in his quarters and researched more from afar. Why did Garrus' talk affect him this way? Everything the Executor said to him, Theron had never experienced. Perhaps his employer had been psychologically troubled, and Theron's way of thinking hadn't been challenged with credibility.

Perhaps he was still correct and Garrus was wrong.

Perhaps.

"-actic news has obtained leaked documents of Executor Vakarian's personal choices of music," said the news personality.

Theron didn't even notice the car's radio until his mind searched for anything other than the topic at hand.

"His iconic visor features an audio link that allows its user to play music. Our leader of Citadel Security has even gone as far as listening to music during combat, irresponsibly putting all of his teammates at risk."

Theron didn't know the news reporter's name, but he didn't need to. Regardless of his location in the galaxy, the news never changed; the one thing that populates the Citadel and Terminus systems, sensationalized broadcasts.

Garrus' list of "irresponsible" music flashed on the Cab's screen.

 _Most Played_

 _Rancor – Right Where It Belongs (Cover)_

 _The Quarian Barbarians – Mine_

 _Expel 10 – Hurt Me Deeper_

 _Zure – Love Labour Lost_

 _Kinetic – Bottom of the Bottle_

"Joining me now is humanities most accomplished psychologist, Darren Mark, thank you for being here."

 _I don't believe he's the most accomplished._

"I'm grateful to be here," replied Darren.

 _I don't believe he is grateful to be there._

"Thanks to this list of quite frankly, depressing music, what can we observe from this?"

"Well, to be fair here, a person's musical taste doesn't say anything about their personality. Many civilized people who never hurt a fly, go home and listen to Krogan war anthems. Despite that, I do think that it's safe to say Mr. Vakarian is suffering from a traumatic form of depression."

"That sounds awful. Now, why would he do this to himself?"

"Well, music is often treated as something that is harmless, but if it is put in a certain context, the effects can often be very serious."

"Such as?"

"Well, the depression can begin on its own before manifesting in other ways. The Executor has received lots of hostility by the media whirlwind responding to his actions and decisions as the head of C-Sec."

"But that is due to his disrespect and failure of people on the Citadel."

"Well, he may experience more stress than usual due to the amount of stories hostile towards him, but it is this music playlist that is responsible for his state of depression."

"Should he be allowed to command C-Sec in this state of mind?"

"Well, I don-"

Theron switched off the car radio, his eye twitched every time Darren began a sentence with that single word.

Well.

Garrus was thankful for the world's lack of logic, the same kind that is framing him in the media as an incompetent, spineless failure.

Theron did not understand, he could not. Upon landing at Aria's headquartes, he would not.

Silence awaited him, parked cars gathered dust and his footsteps echoed off the walls. Analyzing the situation, Theron's emotional side felt tempted to step back into the Cab. The existence of an emotional side concerned him, this assignment ate at him, piece by piece.

Moving with caution, he stepped toward what appeared to be the front entrance. The building he stood by was drab, bleak, and abandoned. The perfect sanctuary for someone such as Aria from the grimy rock of Omega.

The door pinged as it detected his presence, silently opening, what awaited Theron altered his mind with an uncanny rush of horror.

Orange, blue, and red blood dripped from the ceilings, staining a floor drenched in mutilated corpses. The lights were coloured according to the blood coated over them.

Fumes of fresh skin cut open, releasing life cells as the vessels were brutally cut to pieces.

One turian laid on the floor with a single blade penetrating his left eye, the weapon's blade pierced to the floor through his head.

Regurgitating in his throat, Theron choked out an agonizing breath.

Making the first step inside, he placed his right foot on the one stretch of flooring absent of color. The tip of his boot was stained red as it overwhelmed the teeny radius. Theron gasped as his left foot marked a dead man's squashed forehead.

Steading himself on top of a dead Krogan's back, he glanced to his left, seeing a vacant room, with the exception of a deceased suspect by the name of Declan. The Ion converted Turian, builder turned murder, guilty brother made dead before the Tracker's eyes. Declan's corpse may not have appeared to be cut like everyone else in this building, but he sure seemed vacant.

Sidearm equipped in his right palm, Theron continued afoot.

Left arm lit up at the twitch of a finger, he called his employer.

"Theron," greeted the Executor. "Any news?"

"Mr. Vakarian. Everyone at Aria's headquarters is dead."

"…What?" exclaimed Garrus.

"Everyone is dead and if you are going to send investigators, I suggest giving them substantial backup."

Silence fell as Garrus processed Theron's information, the Tracker continued down the halls, leaving blooded footprints.

"Where are you?" asked Garrus.

"I am currently in the headquarters."

"Are you insane? Get out of there, Theron. I am ordering you."

"Aria is a productive member of our team and I have not detected her amongst these victims, I will evacuate once I have sighted her."

"Show me your video feed."

Theron agreed to the Executor's reasonable request and held up his left arm facing forwards, the camera's flashlight beamed off of the decaying corpses.

"By the… Theron, get back to C-Sec, now."

The Tracker closed his video feed. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Executor."

"You want to be Goliath's next target, your wish. Find her."

Displeased by his employee's refusal to listen, Garrus disconnected the call and immediately went to getting backup ready to secure the building and grab as much evidence as possible.

Theron found an emergency staircase door and opened it. Surprisingly empty, the Tracker ascended, observing each floor to access the probability of finding Aria. He'd quietly contact her comms channel every other floor, but wasn't receiving anything. Either she wasn't alive, or she ignored him, neither situation comforted him.

Levels two and three were just as bloody as the ground floor, but between sections 4-10, lobbies and rooms were vacant.

Staining every third step with bloody prints, he arrived to the top, adrenaline surging through his veins to override the fear. Opening the door, he stepped outside and felt the familiar open air.

Engines activated, Theron's feet trembled before jumping to his right. One skycar lifted off the ground, ready to make its escape.

Theron raised his weapon, quickly moving to the vehicles immediate left.

"Stop right there!" he shouted, unconvincing in his vocal performance that he's someone with authority.

Synthetics didn't need to be shouted out and as a result, Theron's silence was typical, and didn't reveal his dubious attempt at sounding authoritative.

The vehicle's door opened to reveal a purpled skinned Asari with familiar facial markings and an alluring, but absolute outfit.

"About fucking time you showed up!"

Gesturing for him to get in the passenger seat, Theron did. Before the doors fully closed, Aria's right foot stomped on the throttle, gravity forcing Theron's dome into the headrest.

"Where are we going?" asked Theron, collecting his thoughts.

"Northern Zakera."

"Goliath's base of operations?"

She shook her head. "There's a damaged building not far from there. The top floor's premium apartment used to belong to Razor."

"Citadel's previous leader of organized crime. Why are we going there?"

"I've dealt with him on Omega years ago. Real piece of shit, but he always had an endless array of backup plans and secrets. This premium suite of his wasn't ordered in his name, C-Sec never found the identity he used and therefore didn't know of the apartment's existence."

"I do not understand how this is related to Goliath."

She sighed. "Razor was a psychopath, but a very smart one and a top level engineer. It's how he was able to get as far as he did, not being able to takeover other gangs with brute force or fear, he took them down with technology. I don't think it's a coincidence that Goliath arrived just after Razor's death."

Aria's observation lit a spark in the depths of Theron's mind.

"How are you one-hundred-percent sure they are connected?"

"I'm not," she replied. "I've had this suspicion for a long time, I figure that Razor's hidden apartment should be the place to find out if I'm right."

"Had Declan assisted you in this suspicion?"

"No. All he gave was information about the main base, none of it very useful."

Theron didn't respond, annoying Aria to no end.

"You were right," she said.

Theron remained silent. The Tracker didn't need Aria's confirmation, he knew what was going to happen with Declan.

"Did you partake in extreme measures with Declan?" he asked. "You wanted what he kept from us."

"It may surprise you, but I'm not a sadist," she scoffed, provoked by his assumption of her character. "Torture doesn't work, it's only reserved for those that enjoy it. I'm here on a job, not a holiday."

Surprised by her tempered anger at his question, Theron felt something, he very rarely felt.

"Sorry," he whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear it, but she did hear it.

She snorted.

"I don't need your apology, Mr. Know-it-all. Just remember, no one's always right."

Deathly quiet, Theron took her words in, contemplating what he saw in that building, not knowing why he did.

"What happened?" he asked.

Lack of specifics weren't required. Aria's hands angrily clutched the wheel.

"I spent all my time talking to Declan, getting nowhere. Finally the researchers I sent digging for Intel on Razor picked something up, information C-Sec never had. That's when the first man died, and everyone else who followed…"

Making Theron jump in his seat, she slammed her fight fist on the dashboard. The Tracker sighted biotic power in her punch, cracking the dashboard.

"When I get my hands on that heap of shit, I will rip it to fucking shreds."

Theron's Omni-Tool lit up with a call from Garrus, he briefly looked at Aria as she set the vehicle to auto-pilot. Theron answered the video call, seeing Garrus' face fade into view.

"Aria," he said. "Never thought I'd be glad to see you alive."

"Thanks for the fucking support, Vakarian."

"What the hell happened?"

Theron leaned further into his chair, as the conversation didn't seem to revolve around him once Aria slid into frame.

"My entire team got wiped out, that's what happened. So you better hope that I and your expert here find something at Razor's home."

"Razors home? What does that scumbag have to do with this?"

"'That scumbag' is someone who always had a scheme. I believe that Razor is connected to Goliath and my research team found information on a hideout of his that _you_ never got."

Garrus was anything but pleased.

"You mean to tell me that your team from Omega just got blitzed, and now you're going to the secret home of someone else that I took care of?" he exclaimed.

"I'm not one of your bitches, Vakarian, I'm going."

"No, you will come back to C-Sec, now."

"Why the fuck would I do that?"

"Because Kolyat and his team of investigators are dead."

Theron was silent, but his active mind persisted. Now, he did feel anything but a cold beating heart, sinking.

"I sent someone to investigate after I didn't hear from them. And they were all killed in the exact same manner as your team."

"That doesn't change things," affirmed Aria. "We are still going to Razor's home."

"Don't you understand, Aria? He's coming for anyone opposing him, I can't guarantee your safety or Theron's!"

"Then worry about yourself. I never asked for your protection."

"Come back to C-Sec!"

Aria looked at Theron. "Disconnect the fucking call."

"Theron, stay on the line! Get back to C-Sec! If Aria wants to put herself in danger of being killed, that's her choice. But I can't have two more fighters dying on me!"

Theron stared at Garrus in the pixelated frame. Glancing back and forth between Aria and his employer, he thought back to when he took this job. He wanted to explore the meaning behind the meaningless. Now, he wasn't sure that he would live to find out.

"I'm going with her, Executor."

Vakarian gawked at Theron. Their conversation and Theron's constant strive to logically understanding the world, only to take this course of action. The Executor closed his eyes and sighed.

"You think this is for the best, Theron?" he said, eyes opened.

"I'm not sure, Executor."

Garrus hated it, but accepted the situation, knowing he would be unable to change both their minds.

"Watch your backs, report back the instant you're done."

Theron nodded. "Roger that."

The call disconnected.

"Thank you," said Aria.

"You're welcome," he replied.


	13. Chapter 13

**The Tracker of Goliath**

 **Chapter 13**

"Damaged" perfectly described the building Razor's hideout was located. Zakera Ward had a reputation of being fully restored. This held true for richer areas that weren't far from the Presidium. For the poorer districts, the station retained many scars from the Reaper War.

Crooked, decayed, and barely standing, Aria parked only a few yards away from the front entrance. The roof appeared too uneven and dangerous even for the pirate queen of Omega to land on. Aria multitasked slamming the door and equipping her pistol, a weapon that'd seen more death and destruction than most lifespans.

Theron took out his stock M-3 Predator. A weapon that he now wished he received more training for. All the extranet videos in the world weren't going to assist him if this venture ended in death.

Theron never feared death because honestly, he never confronted it. Training to deal with Synthetics for years, they quickly became as dangerous and threatening as a fire-extinguisher. Theron needed only his special tools to take care of the job.

Today, his inexperience of violence left him very green in comparison to Aria.

"Let's get this over with," she said.

Jolted back into the situation, Theron nodded and followed Aria's lead.

The front door screeched as its sensors picked up Aria's presence. Footsteps dragged along the cracked flooring inside, the pirate queen readied her pistol, centuries of experience leveling her sights for the eyes.

"Ready your weapon and stand by my side," she ordered.

Theron listened and held his weapon in front, aiming as well as he could. The building's ground floor had a T-square layout, with two entrances and a hallway in the middle leading to the elevator; raving in the middle of said hallway was a fuzzy haired human, hopped up on narcotics.

The Tracker and Queen held their weapons up, the man bashed his head very hard into the wall after his eyes settled upon Theron. Analyzing the situation, Theron assessed the man as harmless, but in their way.

Aria readied her stance for a kick she performed against many irritants.

"Daniel!" shouted the man, his voice as wretched as his appearance.

Realizing that shout was aimed at him, Theron's skin crawled.

Perplexed by the raving man's exclamation, Aria held her stance and waited to see where this situation took her.

"Danny! Mother fucking, Danny! It's me little bro!" he rambled, stumbling towards Theron.

The Tracker lowered his weapon as the man surprised him with a bear hug, one forceful enough to hitch Theron's breathing.

Aria lowered her weapon with a grin she couldn't resist.

The crazy's hands cupped Theron's cheeks as the Tracker stood there like a pillar, a very nervous pillar.

"It's me! It's your brother, Danman! Scotty! Where've you been man? It's been like, fifteen years!"

Theron's eyes gazed at Aria's, one silent word that he mentally screamed.

 _Help._

Aria couldn't bring herself to do it. She revelled in Mr. Know-it-all looking like he was going to shit his pants.

Theron's plead was drowned by Scotty's meandering drivel.

"My brother! We need to catch up man! I need to hear how much better you've been doing than m-"

His request was cut short as the Tracker shoved Scotty out of the way, put a hand on Aria's shoulder, gesturing towards the elevator. Aria walked along with Theron, but only for the amusement.

Scotty didn't seem to realize what happened, desperate, he slammed his head against the wall, echoing his previous attempt, with more brutality. Reeling from the blow hard enough to leave a blood mark, he started running to the elevator.

Theron's index finger drummed the "close door" key like a soldier rapid firing his assault rifle.

"Danny! What are you doing man! Don't leave me behind again! We were jus-"

The opened doors recused themselves from the chilling display, for Theron. Aria took the shutting doors as her cue to let her harsh laughter bounce off the elevator walls.

Theron's wide eyes looked at Aria, the Asari holding onto the railing for what appeared to be her life. Wiping tears from her eyes, she looked up, only to see the Tracker's eyes in the mirrored walls, and started laughing all over again.

Theron didn't think this job could get any worse.

Slowly recovering, Aria stood straight, grin in full.

"So when do we meet the rest of the family?" she joked.

Theron didn't like Aria joking at his expense.

"I have never met that man in my adult life."

Aria's smirk didn't fade.

"Are you sure? Never titled yourself as 'Dan: The Master Tracker'?"

"My name is Theron."

The Tracker wanted to sigh in relief when Aria's infuriating expression dimmed, she was surprised how upset the situation and her mocking made him. Perhaps this man wasn't the sexless robot she first saw.

"No need to get your panties in a bunch," she said. "I prefer keeping my past a part of me as well; less risky."

Theron, abnormally, raised an eyebrow. "Safer?"

The elevator chimed a familiar sound, indication that their selected floor had been reached.

Aria puffed at Theron's comment.

"Safe isn't in my vocabulary," she said, raising her weapon and moving forward as the elevator door opened.

Theron followed behind closely. Their floor's modeling and construction echoed the entrance level, the only different being that the surface underneath his feet felt much thinner than solid ground. Their footsteps softly paced over the dust riddled carpeting, torn beyond repair.

No crazies inhabited this hall, but remnants of disadvantaged individuals littered Theron's senses, mostly smell. Dollar market booze reeked and red sand filled gaps in carpeting.

Aria wouldn't have been surprised if the drugs staining her shoes came from a shipment of hers. Supply in demand was high in Citadel Space and Aria sold to whatever empire had the credits. Progressing through the smells and silence, they arrived at their destination. An apartment, substandard entrance and number in front of them; Razor's intent.

Aria holstered the pistol to activate her installed hacking program. Given by a Terminus hacker who owed her money, it was one of the fastest viruses around.

Theron stepped past her. Insulted, Aria opened her mouth to voice her offense; five finger gestures later, the door opened, and Theron's Omni-tool dulled its lights.

 _Back to Mr. Know-it-all._ She thought.

Knowing what message he sent to her, Theron stepped inside with Aria beside him.

Absence of the horrid smell, the Apartment's beauty was tarnished by dust. Feeling particles, Theron ignored them and searched for anything that may prove to be useful for their investigation.

Their hunt, in the eyes of the Pirate Queen, hinged on this inspection.

Theron drifted towards Razor's shutdown terminal, resting on top of an office desk. Aria watched him tap his fingers and by the power of abracadabra, the machine powered back to life.

"I will scan for information and data contained in Razor's terminal," said Theron.

Aria nodded before looking elsewhere.

The apartment consisted of one large open room, featuring a kitchen, dining table, lounge, and office desk that Theron occupied. One hallway existed, on the right, Aria ambled down to find Razor's bedroom connected to a large washroom and shower.

The bathroom consisted of gleaning metal and level flooring and ceilings.

Narrowing her search, Aria slowly examined each millimetre of every panel, knowing that if there was a single unnecessary gap or angle, it wouldn't be an accident.

Placed behind the sink's faucet, laid a button that to any normal person, would just look like a part of the wall. Expecting the obvious, her wish was granted with the button's press.

The shower of gargantuan proportions, broad enough to lavish dozens, revealed its purpose. Three panels, tucked behind robust materials, opened. Emitting from the ceiling, lasers scanned the open space, creating a grid. Holographic displays initiated, design schematics were split into multiplied windows, all save files were detected.

Forty two designs were digitally sketched; each one radically different from the other. Aria riffled through the files, amazed by Razor's work. The last of which being a synthetic unit unlike anything Aria had ever laid eyes on.

Unknown to her discovery, Theron would discover a different side of the same page.

Encrypted but breakable, the Tracker hacked into Razor's files. Cataloging extensive pornography, weapons packages, and narcotics; Theron's interest in all mentioned subjects, remained non-existent. Razor's personal documents peaked Theron's interest; his ability to scan through the hundreds of documents in a matter of minutes, proved to be invaluable.

The first batch of entries were nothing more than Razor tracking shipments and ideas of software programs and hardware utilities he would need to test. Theron's interest in the second batch came to light when one of his shipments had been attacked by pirates dumb enough to enter Citadel space. His transport of illegal but popular drugs crashed on a nearby ice Planet. During the wait for rescue, the squads on Razor's ship encountered a team of battle-hardened Alliance soldiers. Both forces struggled in the blizzard, but two of Razor's ship member survived the battle and were treated to an underground lab base. Up to date on his galactic knowledge and research, Theron remarked that they appeared to be similar to other Alliance and former Cerberus facilities, some that leaked out after Commander Shepard uncovered a few.

One-hundred personal synthetic assistant units were found in the facility. All of them plugged in to be integrated with an artificial intelligence. The Enhanced Defense Intelligence laid the ground work for the program's source code, but with modifications made.

Razor didn't care some of his recruits were dead, he was beyond elated. All the red sand in the world could not match his thrill on what he acquired by chance. Razor had something incredible on his hands and the Alliance had one hell of a mess to cover up. Razor's shipments became his secondary focus. Spending time here and at his gang's headquarters, the majority of that time was spent testing the artificial intelligence and witnessing its capabilities.

Razor previously conducted copious amounts of research into studying SMG heat sink mods used during the Reaper War. He was amazed by the creators work, because they managed to construct an attachment that negated the heat of thermal clips. Knowing how many credits every army in galactic space spent towards developing stealth systems and ways to mask heat, Razor imagined that if configured in the correct manner, these Heat Sinks could be remade to develop a cloaking system of infinite capacity.

Now inspired by AI, the insane criminal overlord had to continue his work on both projects.

Negating much of his empire, Razor worked tirelessly; ignorant of sleep and how close C-Sec was to nailing him to the wall, he locked himself away and devoted every fibre of his being to this creation. Constructed in his main-base of operations, on the day of his death, Razor completed his invention and gave it birth. An artificial intelligence that was undetectable and invisible. Its programming, created by Cerberus, modified by the Alliance, and completed by Razor, the AI followed a small number of protocols.

Everything Razor failed to create, it would succeed. All Synthetics who followed it, would follow forever. All Organics would never threaten it, and would never make an attempt. All who opposed it, would die.

It would never be seen.

It would never be stopped.

It would never be killed.

Aria's heavy combat boots echoed down the hall, carpeting dampened her sounds as she neared Theron's location. Looking over his shoulder, she recognized the data's significance based on Theron's facial expression, and that they were both on the same page.

"Nailed, you son of a bitch," snarled the Pirate Queen, wishing she acted on her suspicion as soon as she landed here, save her men and woman from death by Psychobot 3000.

Topping his index finger, Theron brought up Garrus Vakarian's contact information and address on his Omni-tool, copying each file and sending it to the Executor.

"He will not be able to transfer all information, Alliance Command will make quick action to sue the Executor," said Aria.

"I don't believe that Garrus will be concerned about that," replied Theron, as the files were uploaded.

Aria stepped away from Theron to observe the rest of Razor's apartment. "Got all that you can from that thing?" she asked.

The Tracker stood up from Razor's office chair.

"Everything that will assist in stopping his creation."

Contempt, Aria turned around, gesturing to the entrance and exit.

"Let's go then, I hate this place already."

Walking next to her, Theron received a message from his employer. The Executor's fire team sent to Aria's base was now scanning the scene and collecting evidence, not that it would lead to anything they now didn't already know.

Garrus regretted that the Alliance could be implicated in the last eight years of organized crime on Citadel station. For now, he would need to read past Theron's cliff notes version and study the full list of documents himself.

Kolyat and the rest of the investigators he brought to assist were being transported to the morgue. Autopsy's would be done out of protocol and procedure, not out of need to find out how the officers were killed.

Message sent, information gathered, and the plot unravelled, preventing escalation became the final goal for Theron, Aria, and Garrus.

Turning the corner around the entrance to Razor's apartment, a prick on Aria's chest developed into wound; sharp blade penetrated her skin and pierced through her heart. It was a mercy, had the blade ended one millimetre short, she would've bled internally to death, while simultaneously unable to consume the oxygen needed to fuel her lungs.

The blade violently rippled the Pirate Queen's laceration; eyes as dead as her mind, soul, and body, she arched to the floor, blood dribbled from her mouth as she laid on the ground, her life taken.

Eyes wide, heart pounding, ears ringing the Asari's final breath, Theron ran. The staircase door opened, just barely matching the Tracker's pace of movement. The tip of the feet almost clipping with the door's panel, as it vanished below the floor.

Skipping steps, jumping down small flights of stairs, and running between every flat piece of hard metal, Theron ran. Destined to die by the edge of a blade, mortified by what he witnessed, Theron ran, knowing that he would not make it out alive. Despite the statistic improbability, Theron didn't accept his fate, and continued to sprint. Vision blurred, short memory unfocused, and external sounds dulled, Theron didn't know what was happening. All that mattered was getting the vehicle that brought him here, and would now, if he didn't die, get him out of here. Descending every individual floor, not knowing what waited for him on each one was unequivocal torment.

Ground floor awaiting his presence, he ran through it. No relief until his escape, the Tracker sprinted out the entrance, entering the vile streets. Recognizing him to be in radius, the car's door opened. Theron's feet left the ground, leaping into the air, adrenaline protecting him from the pain a rough landing in the driver's seat brought.

Stomping on the throttle with the doors wide open, Theron felt the wind as the vehicle accelerated. The doors shut as he flew fast and low to the ground, close enough to decapitate someone, had they been in his path.

Catching his breath, hearing his heart beat unlike it ever had, the vehicle fiercely rose up, increasing its altitude and speed. Breaking approximately ten vehicle operating laws, Theron entered C-Sec's address into the on-board computer. Setting a destination where he would be safe, Theron couldn't let himself relax until this job was complete.

Until he killed the unkillable.


	14. Chapter 14

**The Tracker of Goliath**

 **Chapter 14**

The Executor waited patiently in his office. Protected by thick layers of unholy materials, he did not need to listen the noise. The sounds of boots on the floor, people scattered from office to office, voices flooding the emergency calls, fire teams, investigators, and special agent lines. Ignorant to the sounds, Garrus still couldn't ignore the orders, because he gave them.

Even in her death, Shepard lingered in his mind. Not conveying words of unbounded love and affection, not the screams of his name during coition, or the pleas for his life in the worst of the war. All he could hear were her favorite words, a sentence that felt like a dagger contacting his bones.

" _You need me."_

The elevator buzzed, Garrus looked up.

Footsteps resounded, repeatedly, quickly.

Vakarian's three fingered hand leisured onto his carved Predator pistol. His thumb ran over Thane's name engraved on the back panel, when Theron came around the corner.

Puzzled, he realized the significance of Theron being alone. Devastation ruptured; thankful for Theron's silence, the Executor remained in his chair, his battle hardened grip could crush his weapon's handle. Panting, sweating, Theron stopped at long last. He waited in the elevator, but now, he truly has stopped. Seeing his employer's expression, Theron's news needed no words. Agonizing seconds ticked by, when Garrus looked into Theron's eyes.

"Are you okay?"

Slowing down his breaths, straightening his legs and posture, Theron nodded.

Garrus Vakarian felt lost, he did not know what the future held in store, not just for himself but for potentially millions around the galaxy. Omega would need a new leader. The Alliance would need to cover up or go on public record. The Council would no longer be able to calm the media. Goliath's wrath only grew with each passing day, and Garrus would be remembered as the man who let the Citadel die a slow death, if he did not end this.

"Did you see it?" asked Garrus.

Theron shook his head. "Declan was not emotionally compromised or lying, what he stated is true. No one has seen, Goliath."

"How did she die?"

"It used a blade, from my observation standing next to her, the same weapon that reflected Commander Shepard's wound."

"By the spirits, Theron," scorned the Executor. Leaving his desk with the heavy slam of his fist. "Your observation? Aria died in front of you!"

Theron didn't respond, unable to construct a sentence reliable enough to emotionally counter his employer's feelings.

Garrus appeared regretful of his tone, taking a deep breath and leaning against the wall, looking out at the city he protected.

The elevator buzzed, Garrus looked up.

Theron turned around, his heart sank. Peaking around the corner, the elevator doors opened to reveal emptiness, a vapid container of something he thought he escaped. Theron didn't know how he made this mistake, one he avoided for his entire lifetime here. His will to live, would now summon him to death.

"Garrus," he said. "We need t-"

The Executor's pistol fired a gunshot, sound waves rippled the air as Vakarian fell to his knees, his blue blood puddling the floor as he screamed in pain.

Theron rushed forward, leaping over the Executor's desk, aligning the floating weapon with Goliath's location. Mid-air, Theron's progress stopped with an unseen mechanical hand wrapped around his neck, chocking his windpipe. Skin changing color, he was thrown, the force around his collar vanished; relieved only for a second, his back collided with the very sharp corner of a shelf.

Theron couldn't echo Vakarian's screams as his breath was cut short by the impact. Sliding down with bones cracked, Theron's eyes watered upon landing on the hard floor. Struggling to look, the Tracker saw Garrus on the wall to his left, three meters away from the desk. Theron's eyes widened despite the pain. Without a sound, the cloak dissipated and the Tracker scanned his eight foot tall, mechanical target.

He saw Goliath.

It did not focus on Theron, it focused on the bleeding Turian.

"You…" sneered Vakarian.

"I."

It spoke to him.

Theron's perspective of logic visually crumbled into particles of dust. Understanding what Goliath executed arrived with a new question, that one being why he and Garrus were still alive? And why, would it speak to them?

Theron now saw, not to _them_ , to him; Garrus Vakarian.

Goliath rested the pistol on Vakarian's forehead.

"Go fuck yourself," spat the Turian.

Goliath's claw rested on the trigger.

"You win!" roared Garrus. "Okay? I failed to stop you from the beginning! I'm the reason you're here! I could have stopped this and I didn't! Now just end it!"

Vakarian's heaving breath filled a room, otherwise, engulfed in dead air.

"My creator died by my hand without suffering. Economical, efficient, productive. A death that you witnessed and failed to prevent, not because you couldn't, but, because you didn't. You didn't think of me as capable of future plans, and allowed me to escape. You didn't come after me, you didn't search for me; you were too busy languishing in petty, organic fuelled publicity. This is the result of your actions."

Goliath stepped away from Garrus, leaving him to endure, crippled mentally and physically. To Theron's surprise, and horror, Goliath stood above him.

"Under my command, Declan was enlisted to create a device. One that would be able to connect to the Ions world without the need for a neural upload unit, it was also designed to disable any Ion that I see."

Perplexed by the behavior of his target, Theron glared at it.

"That's impossible."

"Evidence for that argument will need to be collected in order to affirm your statement."

Theron did not want to die, and continued to buy every second he had left.

"You do not need more evidence to confirm a fact. Ions are not able to leave their virtual world without a neural upload unit, and synthetics and organics are unable to enter without it."

Goliath held a device in his right palm, similar in design to the Trapper that Theron carried around for encasing a Synthetic unit's "mind". He was never able to develop one that could do the same thing to Ions, because of the impossibility.

Goliath held the device close to Theron.

"You will test that theory."

The device emitted a piercing noise.

Theron's mind became vacant, his body became a corpse and fell to the floor, leaving Garrus Vakarian in awe, and dread.


	15. Chapter 15

**The Tracker of Goliath**

 **Chapter 15**

Asari Councillor Tevos, remained in her seat, hands resting against her face. Photographs of Garrus Vakarian's corpse laid on the floor, mocking Tevos' lack of involvement in this case. She felt that C-Sec's Executor could handle the situation with Goliath while she and other politicians devoted their energy towards fundraising, gatherings, and charities to prepare for re-election. When Shepard desperately pleaded for a brief reinstatement of her Spectre status to go after Goliath, Tevos only allowed it with half of her attention.

And then Goliath murdered Shepard, Alenko, and their child.

During speeches, her thoughts drifted off-course, images of the savior's family repeatedly flashed her mind's eye, and her body's expression of positive objectivity, were replaced with a peevish demeanor.

Granting Aria access to the Citadel would help solve this problem, she thought. Hiring a Tracker, would solve this. Staying clear of Garrus' unending thirst for revenge, and focusing on the Citadel's future would result in Goliath's demise.

Yes, Vakarian's decaying corpse _was_ mocking her. Theron's pale vessel rubbed it in her face. Aria's wounded cadaver, smeared her conscience. Everyone else from Kolyat and Declan, to Aria's elite squad, made it inarguable that Goliath was a walking bloodbath. Datapads containing these images were stacked into a pile of death next to her.

That despair and misery made for a story that couldn't help but spread across the galaxy. Every news corporation in the Milky Way were chanting into the echo-chamber of disaster. Tevos flipped through channel after channel of an event that involved the galactic station she took part in leading for generations.

Tired of listening to Emily Wong's persistent reminder of Vakarian's death, Tevos moved her left palm to make a swipe gesture, changing the news channel to another, this one, located in the Terminus system.

"-ace station is reporting a mass-abandonment, as it was recently discovered that almost five-hundred thousand citizens have purchased tickets to leave Citadel Station, with that number only continuing to grow each day."

Citizens were petrified.

They survived galactic-genocide, a decade of recovery and rebuild, and death beyond any imaginable figure, only to see this galactic station be slowly overwhelmed by a single name.

Shepard, Garrus, Aria, Kolyat, and Theron couldn't beat it.

What chance did Tevos have?

The Councillor's office door chimed, indicating the arrival of a single person, Tevos' assistant, her exquisite designer clothing contrasting against her shaken expression.

Tevos stood and looked, resting her hands behind her back, feigning confidence.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's the Ion's world Councillor. It's been compromised."

Tevos' heart sank.

Theron has comparatively, woken up far less than the average person. His lack of sleep and the persistence of his conciseness always fueled him. Due to this unusual schedule, the few times where he did sleep often left him feeling wretched when waking up. His eyes would strain upon opening, the mind reeled and his head would spin, no amount of coffee in the world could make him feel focused and on-point.

This time, it was even worse.

Theron's left arm was covered underneath his weight, when lifted up, his skin echoed the touch of a hundred pins piercing a layer; the limb moved on its own as the odd sensation began to normalize, and the Tracker could more easily adjust his fingers.

Opening his eyes, Theron discovered why his body felt akin to cracked glass, he was laying on a hard floor. Realizing the cause, his hands lifted him off the ground to force him into a standing posture. Throat sore and head pounding, he began to observe his surroundings, if only to distract from the pain.

But the ache didn't fade, because those surroundings were non-existent. Theron's location was an endless horizon of white.

The last thing he remembered happening was seeing his employer shot by his own gun, held in Goliath's mechanical hand, before speaking to the machine itself. Razor's creation looked at him and held a device, immediately upon activation, Theron lost consciousness and woke up here.

Wherever here is.

It couldn't be the Virtual World that belonged to the Ions, it had people, places, and cities; but Theron remembered that the Ion's Virtual World originated as a canvas before the Supercomputer began to load multiple layouts.

Where he stood looked exactly the same as that canvas.

Theron began to walk forward. His footsteps were much softer than on the Citadel, or indeed anywhere else. While it was hard to tell visually, he could feel himself moving in the world. Most baffling, Theron was certain that he could see a horizon of sorts. The same way an organic sees progress when journeying through an ocean, even without clouds or small fixtures of land to compare.

Never stopping, the endless movement was starting to hurt his bones.

He should've been analysing what Goliath did to him, but he didn't want to think about it. Not thinking about it in a way only made Theron feel more pathetic, that his emotions and mental state brought him down to the point of not thinking about the events responsible; but at the same time, not thinking about it felt good.

Well… maybe not _good_.

Perhaps it could be seen as a better alternative.

But then he saw something that kicked the mind into overdrive. At a _very_ far distance, he could see someone.

A person.

Life.

This other person didn't see Theron sprinting towards him at first, but soon, a faint noise could be heard. Theron's heart raced faster when he could see it wasn't even just one person. Another figure stood next to the living being that the Tracker's eyes were almost locked-on to.

Time flew at blistering pace, and in what felt like mere-minutes, Theron's sprint slowed down to a walk.

The Tracker was panting, sweating, yet relieved.

Until he saw who the people were. At least, one of the people.

"Declan?" asked Theron.

He didn't know why, he already knew how.

Goliath's former builder stood exactly as he did when Theron last saw him alive, outfit and all. The only difference being a little bit of dried blood on his left foot. Theron realized that stain could only be from the wet floors of Aria's headquarters where Goliath committed a massacre.

Next to him however, was a women. Not Turian, Human, Asari, Salarian, or anything else… but an Ion.

A true Ion.

The humanoid creature looked exactly as Theron remembered Ions do. Her short height contrasted with Declan's near seven foot stature, but Theron knew that Declan was all too familiar with what it was like to be in an Ion's original body, he was in one for eight-thousand years.

"You know me?" inquired Declan, unable to mask the surprise in his tone.

Theron barely heard Declan's question. His mind raced with questions of how this could be. Declan was dead. Full stop. How is he standing here, and with a woman that is clearly supposed to be in the Ion's Virtual World?

To keep some form of interaction, Theron tried to end the silence.

"Garru- the Executor hired me as a Tracker. You were involved in the case I investigated. I stood behind the glass during your interview with C-Sec."

Declan appeared to loath the mention of his interview, admitting himself a murderer to Citadel's security, all in the name of bringing back his sister.

 _His sister…_

Theron briefly stared at the female Ion standing next to Declan, without an introduction or previous experience, the Tracker couldn't help but voice his discovery.

"And you must be Ira," Theron said cautiously.

The Ion's breath was held.

Declan put his hand on her shoulder to assure her, she seemed too focused on solving a puzzle in her own head to feel it.

Theron's stomach began to sink due to his own thoughts. Goliath went to Aria's facility, and seemingly killed Declan, but unlike every other victim in that complex, Declan wasn't sliced to bits, his body had no wounds. Theron remembered that he himself suffered no wounds from Goliath.

"What is this place?" the Tracker asked Declan.

The Turian closed his eyes, expecting this question, one that stings him to the bone. Ira, Declan's sister, also seemed hurt by this inevitable inquiry.

"Goliath's own Virtual World," said Declan.

Theron's eyes went wide.

"How do you know?" he quickly countered, sounding more accusatory than he meant.

"Because I built the device that links to it."

 _The device…_

Theron's skin started to shiver.

"Then… how is she here?"

Ira's pain returned, but due to frequency of its existence, she appeared numb as she leaned against her brother, having gotten used to his new form. Declan hugged her, if only to stop himself from falling apart.

"Goliath made me an offer. If I constructed a device that could upload any Ion's consciousness back into the Virtual World, it would bring my sister back."

"…And he used the device he created against you?"

Declan was fighting to keep his expression calm and collected, making for one that was neither.

"He gave me a starting point, a blueprint of connections and parts for me to start with. Goliath already knew how to move Ions outside of their own Virtual World, but it didn't know how to send Ion's from the real world back into it without an upload station. This place, is the world he used to extract the first Ion he had control over. He took Ira away, and left her here… he did that before I began the project…"

Declan shook, his breath was uneven, his left hand gently rested on his sister's shoulder, while his right made a clenched fist that looked like it could collapse on itself.

Theron's expression was that of revelation, one that a person has when pondering an emotional question.

"This device…" said Theron. "It can take an Ion that has been moved into the real world, back into the Virtual World?"

Declan's guilt ridden anger subsided a little by Theron's question.

"Yes. That is its purpose."

Theron's heart sank.

"But… I'm human."

Declan started at him.

"And I'm Turian… but we will always be Ions."

Theron's eyes began to stare off into the distance as his mind entered a state of shock, realizing what Goliath has done to him, where the machine brought him back to.

Theron closed his eyes, covered his ears, and crouched down, torturing his tired legs. This couldn't be happening. He was no longer an Ion, he hunted Ions, criminal Ions, those who used their eight-thousand year existence to never accomplish or learn anything. Theron wasn't trapped as kid inside a virtual space. He's a human being that prevented any form of digital-life to echo the error of organics. How can an Ion possibly do that, when they are a digital being themselves?

Declan and Ira watched as Theron aimed to shut down the world around him, trying as hard as he could to still believe in the fantasy he told himself, to devalue those he came from in search of becoming someone else, someone better, someone who wasn't an endless, emotional child who could never escape or grow.

Suddenly, Theron could hear footsteps over his cries. They belonged to someone in the distance. The Ion stood up as he tried to focus on this being in the distance. A new thought hit him hard.

Theron didn't think he could feel any worse, with tears in his eyes and hands shivering, he watched the new figure move towards them. As this unknown being stepped towards them, more could be seen in the distance. At first, it was dozens. Then more started to show from each side. Hundreds. Within moments, he couldn't see the horizon without his vision being flooded with Ions walking, not knowing where they are, or who's responsible.

Theron could scream, stand, cry…

Yet he couldn't.


End file.
